


Art of denial

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 128,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1220983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A secret relationship - well, not *a relationship*, really, if you talk to one Draco Malfoy - 20 years in the making, comes to a critical point - will it make or break?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 20 years in the making...

**Author's Note:**

> I started this while still working on "Choices" and though I should really finish one before starting another - the idea just wouldn't go out of my head. I've never written Draco before as a main protagonist, so that was a challenge and now that it's done I confess I found him rather endearing (though still no match for my Ron! ;)). It's kind of pornish, really, but I like to think there's a story with a point underneath the sex somewhere deep down inside. And, of course, it's unbetaed, so I suppose continue at your own peril. I hope you can enjoy it and feel free to comment, I don't mind if it's not all positive - how could it be, people and their tastes are different and I realize I could use improvement greatly.  
> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

When Draco Malfoy stepped out of the bathroom he was still busy towel-drying his hair. Somehow he felt that drying it with magic reduced the faint smell of shampoo he loved about freshly-washed hair and as every Thursday for the past 20 years he went just a step further to look and feel dashing for his lover. It’s not like he actually cared about his lover’s preferences – seriously, who’d even think something as ridiculous as that, a Malfoy here,  _hello_?! - but he couldn’t deny how he just loved it when the big fist sank into his singular silver blond hair and the taller man pulled him closer to his chest until his body-heat engulfed him. Then he would bury his awed face in Draco’s hair, close those astonishing eyes Draco could see himself in, and inhaled.

“God, I love your hair,” he would whisper and kiss him tentatively just below the hairline. “I love how silken soft it is, how expensive it smells, how you make it nice for me every time… cause you know how much it turns me on.”

Draco wouldn’t bother correcting him that he’d make his hair nice every day  _anyway_ , because that’s how he was taught since he was about five years old and it was just proper – but it just felt right to make him feel it was all for him – and who was he hurting anyway? He liked looking dashing and he loved being told that he still is. If only by him.

Indeed, at 39, Draco Malfoy didn’t need to try very hard to knock someone off their feet – naturally graceful, with money and time enough to take good care of himself, he was still one of the most attractive wizards in England and regularly a centrefold of this or the other glossy magazine, displaying his inherent sense of style, the latest fashion in wizarding robes, or simply –England’s most desirable divorcee-gone-bachelor.

Clad merely in a towel, wrapped around his waist, he threw a passing look at himself in the mirror and couldn’t help smirking proudly at what he saw. His face had barely changed since he was a teenager; perhaps a line or two running deeper around the eyes and a few testifying of his patented way of smirking around the mouth – nothing an amazing potion made with secret ingredients and readily supplied by his mother couldn’t rectify. His eyes were steely grey, legacy of his father and his family line for generations, and today – it was Thursday, his favourite day,  _their_  day - they shone with a special silver glow Draco only kept reserved for the chosen few. Make that a chosen one. Actually, he had no idea where the blasted glow came from and how it got there, but it always seemed to appear on Thursdays, when he was getting groomed for his lover. He had stopped thinking about it over the years, it must have had something to do with expectation of getting fucked his brains out for that week.

His hair was always silvery blond and no one could pinpoint exactly when it had become more silver than blond – it certainly didn’t make him look any older, just unique and somehow distinguished. Draco kept it long, just like his father before him did. Not for to honour his father’s memory, god forbid, the man was a menace and still very much alive, wreaking havoc around the Manor and the wizarding community – but perhaps, just a tiny bit  _perhaps_ because his lover enjoyed playing with it so much and had told him time and time again how insanely sexy it made him look. And of course, because  _he_  wanted to. Draco wouldn’t have done  _anything_  just for the sake of making that redheaded fool smile! It simply wasn’t his style. But this way – because  _he,_ himself liked it – he would plait it and allow him to take it apart during their lovers’ game. He loved watching himself being made a mess in the reflection of those exquisite ocean blue eyes.

His body was still lithe, his job as on-the-field Healer within the Auror department kept him on his toes and also provided him with a layer of hard muscles, shaping the once skinny torso into a perfection that could make any Quiddich champion cry in envy. And then there were scars.

Unlike 20 years ago, when there was nothing but that blasted Potter’s  _Sectumsempra_  scar marring his skin, there was a whole map of them now – small scars, scratches, lines of poorly healed wounds, bigger dents – all of it legacy of his work in the line of the law, coming with an added benefit of making him look  _that_  much more dangerous and sexy.  His lover loved to trace it with his big calloused fingers, mapping them, remembering them with his touch. That made them so much more special to Draco. He was with him through most of them anyway, having been assigned his on-the-field partner all those years back – and Draco treasured every moment when he got a new one and he knew that anxious look in those blue eyes was coming and he was going to be asked softly and somewhat nervously:

“Are you alright?”

Every time he would offer the same answer – “Of course I am, don’t be daft, I’m a Malfoy, they’re going to have come up with a lot more than  _that_  to get the world rid of  _me_!” – but every time he was curiously content that the question was  _there_  and he got a chance to answer it. They have been trying to avoid messing about at work as much as they could – it was just not worth the charges of fraternizing and the complications that came with it if anyone had found out about them - but it felt good to know that when Thursday came,  _their_  Thursday, his scars would be put on display once more and the new one would get special treatment.

What they did was dangerous and every time they were called out there they knew that the chances of them being carried away were about equal to those of walking away unharmed, well, more or less, at least. It added special edge to their… well, supposedly one  _could_  call it a relationship, but it wasn’t, not really. But they had been a good team. And it still made him laugh that they were initially paired off as a means of disciplinary punishment – no one knew about them, no one knew they had been lovers for five years by the time they were made a team. And sometimes being lovers made it harder to watch the other person get hurt – but most of the time if felt good knowing that the person you trusted with your life thought you were precious.

Not that he thought  _Weasley_  was precious, Merlin, no, would he ever… It was just… hard to imagine his life, well, _his_   _career_ , of course, without him after all this time spent together – and the new loser of a partner would probably be twice as big a moron  _and_  the devil you know… Anyway, it was 20 years after all. Merlin, was it really that many?

~


	2. Closing in on you

It had all started after the war. They had hated each other in school, he wouldn’t have leaned his broom against Weasley back then and he had no doubt Weasley wouldn’t have touched him with a rack. Except in a fight, when those long legs wrapped around him and he was immersed in all that incredible heat he could wank to for days after. But no – it was not like that. He still hated him. He just couldn’t help thinking about him when he fucked his fist.

And he  _might_  have been stalking him a little. Just a tad. Nothing much. Nothing short of getting his daily dose of freckled skin and fierce eyes. But it wasn’t like that, no. No one ever noticed. Draco knew how to be discreet and Weasley… well, Weasley was just a poster-child for all things oblivious, wasn’t he?

But the war and the confusing brand new world that emerged after it, changed what would have otherwise probably been a mere teenage crush, a negligible one, of course. Over the night, Weasley went from being a nobody to a fucking rock star. His face was plastered right next to those of Potter and the Mudblood and the three of them were all over the place – the books, the magazines, the teenage witch’s posters... Which kind of made it a bit hard to forget him, leave him behind, settle down. And the redhead never went back to school, which was kind of cool and got a job at the Ministry instead, based upon his merits during the war. And Ministry jobs back then _were_  considered good opportunity, regardless of what Father had said… 

So after a massive row with Father regarding his new employment at the very same Ministry – “Employment?! _Employment_?! Malfoys don’t  _work_ , don’t be ridiculous!!” - Draco found himself dragged into a pub by a bunch of new colleagues to celebrate his first day of work. It had all started there. In a pub. Where else? (He couldn’t have been  _entirely_  sober to start  _anything_  with Weasley and he was fairly certain the redhead was right there with him in the Land of the Tipsy.)

He was there, of course he bloody well was, with Granger and Potter and the whole holy Gryffindor lot and Draco hasn’t seen him in person since they left school. He might have been… a little taken by surprise at first sight. Fuck it, he was floored. Weasley was no longer a skin-over-bones advertisement for poverty and oddness, the motherfucker had filled-out like a superstar! His hair was still red enough to stop the train, but it was longer, all silken and glossy and pulled back in a messy pony-tail that somehow made him look classy. Weasley – classy. Look in the dictionary under “oxymoron”.  _There_  was a contradiction in terms if there ever was one! But there was no denying it. Draco couldn’t take his fucking eyes of him.

The super-tall muscled body on careless display in low-cut Muggle jeans and a worn-out Chudley Cannons t-shirt – so much for classy! – the enticing freckles flashing through an exposed strip of skin under a too short t-shirt, flashing a hint of a tattoo just above his hip of – was that a dragon?! And then there were the soft generous lips stretching into a brilliant smile, long fingers playing with loose strands of hair and above all, those fucking hypnotic electric blue eyes that made Granger blush and giggle like a teenager and pushed inebriated Potter to make a fool of himself just to keep their focus on him. Draco could read all that and more.

And then those eyes caught on his face and for the longest moment they just stared at each other. For a moment there Weasley was looking at him as if he would at a familiar looking stranger, no past grudges, no hard feelings, just a sudden unexpected connection over the loud crowd in a packed pub. And it was over too soon. Weasley averted his eyes and frowned a little as if he wanted to remember that he should hate the lean youth in expensive clothes who used to make his life a misery.

And all of the sudden Draco knew he wanted in. He  _needed_   to get in, into that closed circle of life-time buddies and war-strengthened allegiances he honestly didn’t give two fucks about - just to feel that connection again, to be close to him. From one moment to another it became essential for Draco Malfoy to get Ron Weasley’s attention and he didn’t bother thinking of the “why”s and the “how-to”s. Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted and right now he wanted Weasley’s eyes back on him. Of course, it had to be done in style.

With no consideration to the sore bunch of losers he came to the pub with he left their table abruptly and took his chair with him, casually pushing it behind the table full of Gryffindors, elbowing the Longbottom idiot out of the way to push himself in. He successfully ignored the gaping mouth and the frowning brows as he cheerfully looked around the table, making a point of  _not_  looking at the only person that held his interest and smiled with a languid bliss:

“Well, hello there… what a lovely bouquet of Gryffindors! Oh, please, do  _not_  mind me, I’m just trying to  _integrate_ ,” he blinked innocently and looked at Granger pointedly – at the end of war she had given a rather famous public speech of overcoming the boundaries and integrating – and she had the decency to blush a little. Potter, on the other hand, wasn’t so gracious.

“What do you want, Malfoy?!” he all but growled, his speech slightly slurred from intoxication, and Draco arched one of his perfect eyebrows as in silent reprimand of such incivility. He thought about spelling out the truth – “Oh, how about you just give me Weasley there and I’ll be out of your way in a blink” – but he thought better of it and looked at the slightly drunk four-eyes with his best look of feigned innocence and fluttered his eyelashes once more.

“Seriously, Potter, do I need a reason to sit with the Saviour these days? As a matter of fact, I have just been hired by the Ministry – yes,  _a job_ , Longbottom, don’t give me that out-of-the-galaxy look, gaping mouth is not very becoming as it is and when it’s yours... – anyway, that effectively makes us colleagues. And because I hardly know any of those drones that dragged me here tonight, I thought I’d celebrate with the lovely people I  _do_  know - you know, make a fresh start and all that rot - so how about you  _quit giving me a hard-time about it_ , hm?”

It had ended on a shaper note than he intended to, but it was not slightly thrown out-of-balance Potter that replied to his provocation, it was Weasley, his forever-sidekick and Lord Protector all in one, and he was almost shaking in justified wrath.  The very person he was  _actually_  hoping to piss-off. Played like a flute. Draco could congratulate himself.

“Get  _out_!” hissed the redhead, his eyes ablaze with a long-burning fire of animosity and frustration. “Get the fuck away from here and let us be! Go play with your Death Eater buddies – oh, that’s right, they’re all in Azkaban and the only reason you’re  _not_  is because Harry here, in a moment of temporary insanity, decided to testify on your behalf – and you can’t even be decent enough to  _leave-us-the fuck-alone_! You should be fucking thanking him on your knees, you sick prick, not practising your revamped arrogance on him, you twat!”

“Ron…”  The Mudblood touched his arm in attempt to calm him down, but the Firewhiskey and the infamous Weasley temper had already done their worse, so by the end of his words the redhead was already standing, face beet red and voice loud enough to make the heads turn. Draco had him just where he wanted him. He glanced at him with what he deliberately made look like pity and turned to Potter instead, arrogance and sarcasm just  _oozing_ from his voice:

“Why, of course, how  _rude_  of me: thank you, Potter. Forgive me, if I don’t go down on my knees as your knight and champion Weasley here kindly suggested; it  _is_  fairly  _dirty_  here and I would rather spare my new robes the… excrement if I can help it. But I  _do_  thank you from my heart, if not exactly from my knees.”

While Potter just gaped at him in confusion, Weasley had pulled his arm from Granger’s grip and hissed through gritted teeth:

“That’s it! I’m not spending another moment at the same spot with this wanker! You lot can do whatever the hell you want, new fucking spirit of new fucking unity, but I’d rather share a table with a bloody Dementor than this crazy bastard! Go fuck yourself, Malfoy!” The long legs found their way out of the crowd with ease and before Granger could finish her desperate: “ _Ron, wait…_ ” the redhead was already out of the door.

“Oh, well,” said Draco with feigned regret and clapped his hands together with a theatrical sigh. “You can’t say I didn’t try. I guess there will always be those with prejudice, but one must lift one’s head up high and try to overcome them. I bid you all farewell, gentle folks.” He got up in a perfect mockery of politeness and was gone before their jaws hit the floor. Behind him a chatter of confused voices broke out, the Longbottom’s “What the heck was  _that_  all about?!” being the loudest, but he couldn’t care less about the clumsy ox on the best of his days and right now he urgently needed to catch up with Weasley. Those blue eyes ablaze had him so hard in his robes he could barely walk.


	3. First time

He caught up with him on the corner of Diagon Alley and a filthy looking side street with a few scattered trash cans lying about and he made sure he sneaked up on him as silently as a cat. He needed an element of surprise on his side for what he was about to do. Weasley must have caught a sight of him with a corner of his eye right before he got to him, because he turned towards him abruptly, but his slightly intoxicated senses were no match for resolute Draco. All he managed was a livid-sounding “Malfoy,  _what the fuck_ …?!”, before the blond grabbed him by the arm and side-apparated them to a new location. To his home-ground, at last. His newly purchased London-based flat no one knew about. His territory. His playfield.

Draco knew the redhead was going to be disoriented with the suddenness of disapparation, he counted on it. As soon as the familiar surroundings of his flat appeared around him, he pounced on Weasley. He knew his time-slot was narrow at best before the Gryffindor came to his senses and with a man as huge as Weasley, his chances were slim to begin with. So he needed to take him down as fast as possible. He wasted no time.

He pushed him backward with all his might, practically crashing him against the wall and pressed against him as tightly as he could, leaving no room to move and no room to pretend the hardness between his legs was anything else than what it was. He saw his beautiful soft red mouth open in shock of the revelation, so he decided to use the moment to his benefit and did what he was  _dying_  to do for longer than he could remember: his fingers dug into the warm hair, pinning him down and he captured those alluring red lips with his mouth, skilfully slipping a tongue inside, licking gently and begging permission for more. And Weasley gave a short startled whimper before his delectable mouth opened obediently and Draco was granted entrance. Now he could really go to work.

God, Weasley tasted divine; the smooth inside of his mouth had a unique spice of Firewhiskey, cinnamon and strawberries and Draco found himself licking on its juices like an addict. He couldn’t stop tasting him. The silken wet cave was everything Draco dreamed it was going to be and then more… lips full and soft and somehow full of innocence; tongue slick and warm, eager to play and just daring enough to be deemed a giant fucking tease, making Draco’s come up with all those undignified involuntary noises and ignore his need for oxygen. He was the one who pounced on Weasley, but Weasley had him before the urge to breathe became overwhelming and their lips parted for the first time. Those mesmerising eyes, almost electric blue with fire, stared down at him from up close with incredulity, making his head spin, making him forget how to form words.

“What the fuck is this, Malfoy?!” he whispered, his voice shaky, out of breath and free of malice, his breath so warm and enticing over Draco’s skin that he shivered before he could stop it.  _Us_ , thought Draco.  _That’s us, that’s what this always should have been. That’s what was underneath all these years._ But he couldn’t tell Weasley that, the redhead wouldn’t understand and right now, Draco didn’t care about making him understand, there were other things more important, other things to attend to. Words could wait. This couldn’t. Therefore he didn’t bother with reply and chose to give him an answer with his lips, kissing his neck just underneath his ear, then gently capturing his earlobe, his tongue slowly outlining his ear-shell time and time again until it was making him moan in need.

“Fuck…  god… motherfucking  _god_ … Malfoy, what are you doing?!” There was urgency in the redhead’s breathless voice he could no longer mask and Draco allowed himself a tiny smile against his skin, flushed hot and melting his brain with its incredible scent of sex-appeal. When the blond finally managed to speak his voice was hoarse and more needy that he would have wanted it.

“Why, I thought it was obvious, Weasley…  _turning you on_ … with all I’ve got… the only way I know how… and look, it’s working, too…” His greedy fingers slipped away from the wonderful silken hair where they were harboured and went straight to the bulge in those faded Muggle jeans that he just  _knew_  was going to be there … And it  _was_ there… and it was huge… and gorgeous… and when his deft fingers closed around it possessively and squeezed gently it made the redhead give an involuntary cry and buck his hips reflexively into his hand, rendering his owner speechless and causing Draco to groan in a sudden heady surge of lust. That’s what he was talking about… Weasley in the palm of his hand… under his control… helpless…. wanting… needing… begging for it with no words…

He pressed the palm of his hand against the worn out fabric once more, feeling up and down his length, fingers closing around his girth… the man was a beast… hard and pulsating under his hand, moving his hips back and forth slightly in need of a friction, making those ungodly needy sounds of want and lust and Draco couldn’t help it… He knew he shouldn’t, because it was like his ultimate fantasy coming to life and he could become addicted… but it was too late, Weasley was there, moving gently under his hand, fucking himself into his loose fist and Draco lost it.

He fell down on his knees in front of him and opened the fly of his jeans with the urgency of a man possessed. Oh, sweet Merlin… that incredible bastard…. No underwear, just a hard hot prick nestled against the background of fine hair just as fiery as the silken strands slipping down his back; the massive shaft jumping at him eagerly - and Draco couldn’t have him beg for attention any longer. He wanted this too much, fantasised about it for too long.

He licked the length of him eagerly and was awarded with a loud groan and a strained “ _Fuck, Draco…_ ” It was enough. Weasley had used his name. His proper first name for the first fucking time and Draco thought it was the most beautiful sound of surrender he had ever heard. And he needed to hear it again and again. He went to work, revelling in the feeling of long fingers slipping into his hair and holding for dear life while Draco sucked him, ate him, teased him into begging and pleased him into howling… and when too soon the beautiful body trapped in his hands bucked, stilled and shuddered, he took his giant hot load down his throat, every last pearly drop of it, while the redhead rode out his orgasm, fucking his face with abandon and stuttering his name, his broken pleas and about a million obscenities.

When it was all over, Draco closed his eyes as in saying a final goodbye to his fantasy and let him slip out… and then watched him slide down the wall boneless and dishevelled and so fucking beautiful that it squeezed his heart and threatened to blow his balls apart into a million fucking pieces. He was so painfully hard his hands were twitching in a desperate urge to touch himself, but he didn’t go through all this trouble to fucking wank himself into completion with this gorgeous motherfucker at hand! He was a bloody Malfoy, wasn’t he and nothing, _nothing_  ever came free with the Malfoys!

He knew he wanted to fuck Weasley - oh, sod it, he  _needed_  to fuck Weasley to get the bastard out of his system once and for all and move on to someone decent and more worthy if he was ever going to have a life he was meant to have. He didn’t even care which one of them did the fucking, he just needed to get this goddamn adolescent fantasy out of his head and he needed to do it  _now_ , there might never be another chance. 

The blond felt the blue eyes linger on him, still not quite focused and wary as they always were in his presence, but they soon would be and he needed to use those moments of this silent intimacy between them before his melted marbles glued themselves together and the redhead will once again be out of his reach. So he slowly moved on to open the delicate buttons of his expensive shirt, careful not to look at Weasley, aware of his eyes watching him intently every step of the way, only adding to the silent tension of the moment lingering between them unspoken.

Draco let the silken fabric slip off his shoulders, well aware that a perfect symphony of lightly sculpted muscles moving under a marble white skin was a masterpiece on its own - and then he just stilled for a while, giving the redhead time to absorb the sight, get used to it, have his imagination going places... Finally he lifted his grey eyes up to meet the blue and the intensity in them was unmistakeable. Weasley wanted this. He wanted him to go on. Still on his knees, Draco deliberately slid down his hand between his legs and rubbed against the hardness, now on obvious display with no shirt to obstruct the view and closed his eyes for a moment like a naughty cat…. He exhaled slowly through the lips, still swollen from the ordeal he put them through, and bit on the lower lip gently as if he wasn’t certain how to proceed. It had immediate effect on the redhead. His breath hitched and his eyes sank down to the narrow aristocratic hand gently cupping and barely moving over the hot hard bulge, as if the fingers wanted to play with it, as if they were  _dying_  to, but they were waiting… waiting for him…

The blond could practically see his mouth go dry in a moment of lucid desire and he knew this was his chance to pull him in. He crossed the small distance between them on his knees, an image of submission, his quest for dominance carefully concealed at the bottom of his silver eyes and when he spoke his voice was warm and laced with just the right amount of pleading.

“Ron… please…” The mesmerising crystal orbs jumped up from revelling at the sight of his arousal to rest on his face, surprise in them unmistakeable - and for the first time Draco had a chance to see his own face in the sea of blue. And it made him a little crazy. “ _Please_ ,” he repeated heatedly, no longer just acting. On impulse he let his other hand cover the redhead’s and close over it, bringing it closer to his mouth and he kissed it, one long freckled finger after another and then lead it down between his legs to let it feast on the warm flesh, pulsating under the fabric, begging to be freed. But the big hand didn’t move like he was hoping it would; it didn’t slip away either leaving him yearning, but it just stilled there, motionless, warm and strong, like a deadly trap, driving him insane.

“It’s all for you,” he blurted, his instincts taking over because he somehow knew if he let his brain lead the way he would fuck this up. “It’s all for you and because of you, it always was. It has only ever been you…. I… you… just look at me,” he asked pleadingly as if the redhead wasn’t already staring at him as if saw him for the first time and Draco honestly felt as if he was being fucked by those incredible eyes. “Look at me… god dammit, don’t you dare look away…” he whispered stunned and drunk from the light shining from those unforgettable orbs. “I can’t lie about that, about what you do to me, how could I? Shit, Weasley, you think this is easy for me?! I have no good way of saying this and… god, I hate you…, but I can’t help myself…  you just… Ron, please… you turn me on like a motherfucker…”

His honey-whisper drowned in a loud moan and it was the last thing he said for a while, because suddenly both large hands pulled him closer, the redhead knocked him backwards and had him buried under his magnificent body within a second. The generous mouth sought him out with abandon as the passionate redhead finally gave in into his unspoken desire and never looked back. Draco made a mental note never to kiss him again once all this was over, because  _this_ … this was just too addictive, too brain-melting, too fucking perfect… Ron was a world-class kisser and he wasn’t even aware of it. The blond felt his control slipping fast and he couldn’t have that. When Weasley’s head moved down his neck and began driving him crazy, he took his chance like a desperate man.

“Have you ever done… this… with a man?” he breathed softly against his ear, with what must have been the last of his breath - and he felt him instantly go rigid under his hands. “Shhh, no matter,” he whispered soothingly when the answer became obvious. “Let me teach you. I’ll be with you all the way… I can’t wait, I can’t  _bloody wait_  to be your first…  _please_ , let me be your first,” he whispered feverishly and felt the words melt him and shape him into a man he needed him to be tonight. “I’ll show you everything. I’ll let you decide how far you want us to go…”

Well, that was a flat out lie, because Draco already knew he wanted to fuck him into another dimension and he would not stop anything short of that. But Weasley didn’t need to know that. He should at least give him some illusion of control.

Ron said nothing, not for a while, but continued to kiss him so thoroughly that it slowly dawned on Draco’s progressively blurry brain that he wasn’t going to get an answer, at least not a spoken one and that this was the redhead’s only way to reply. He didn’t back off, he didn’t walk away and this was his way of giving Draco all the control he needed to have to make this happen.

“Bed,” the blond finally whispered with urgency when Weasley lured yet another involuntary moan out of his mouth with his vicious tongue and Draco felt he might come just from kissing. The needy and breathless “ _Where?_ ” that followed immediately was a clear testimony of the desperate need that settled over them both, but it took the Slytherin a while to answer, because that soft mouth had just sucked him empty of any clear thought and he doubted he could remember his last name in that moment. Beds were so over-rated…. But the redhead felt his confusion and pressed down on him with all his weight, aligning their cocks right next to each other and rutted ever so gently…

“There, oh, god, there,  _there_ … second door on the left,” blurted the blond, suddenly bursting in his confines, wanting nothing more than to get out of his remaining clothes and into the warm naked embrace of that man that was driving him completely and utterly insane. The redheaded fucker with illegal tongue was bloody mind-numbing and driving him dangerously out of control, but Draco knew he could get him out of his system… he just needed to fuck him, completely, entirely, to the end; fuck every last bit of him until he was screaming his name - and then he would be free of him. Cause then he would so  _not_  be a challenge anymore, no more a forever present forbidden fruit, no more a man he was desperately fantasising about since they were boys. Then he would know how it is to have Weasley and he could be rid of the obsessive speculations. Because they couldn’t possibly live up to reality, right? Right?

20 years into retrospective, Draco could safely say this was  _one_  theory that _did not_  stand the test of time. Of course he’d only say it if he was forced into taking the Veritaserum or some such rot. And only under the Veritaserum and in no other circumstances whatsoever, Draco Malfoy might be persuaded to confess that what they did to each other that night still made him shiver and go hard and sometimes come hard if he thought about it for too long. It was not just physical lust taking form, it was so intense, it felt like so much more....

As they were branding each other with their silent all-consuming passion, every touch seemed to be placed just right to weave the silken, cobweb-thin threads of belonging, until they were tied to each other with bonds that by far surpassed anything Draco has ever felt for another human being. Under the touch of undeniable magic between them, he became irreversibly bound to Ron Weasley, to the one man he loved to hate - and couldn’t help to worship. He might not have been aware of it back then, but it had all started that night, the whole 20 years of it.

Of course, Draco would never take the Veritaserum voluntarily. Just as he could never acknowledge Weasley wasn’t just a fuck. Not then, not now. Not  _ever_. But he never forgot that first night. How could he? It made him into the man he was today.

Honestly, Draco couldn’t remember later how they made it to the bed, because he was still stuck on Weasley’s obscenely delicious mouth when they got there. All of the sudden he found himself staring at the emerald ceiling of his bedroom as Weasley’s mouth finally moved to another destination, which happened to be his hopelessly sensitive neck, and Draco simply yelped. He felt him growl softy against his skin, a sound as primal and dominant as they got, and the vibration made his hair stand on ends. All he needed  now was… Weasley bit him. Gently, only a nibble coming out too harsh and grazing the skin, but Draco’s body bucked at the intrusion and surge of lust was so intense he almost toppled over the edge. He was unable to hold back a muffled scream and he felt the blue eyes on him, drinking in his pleasure and Draco was about to find out how it felt to make love to the chess-master supreme, the man who was used to learning on the spot, taking advantage of his opponents weaknesses and improvising with a one goal in his mind - victory.

Suddenly that big delectable mouth was on his nubs, none too gently, the way he was so goddamn in love with – God, how did Weasley know he was addicted to having his nipples licked?! The long calloused fingers were hovering on top of his rosy buttons, circling around them, hardly touching - then coming in for a kill, rubbing and pinching with no mercy, just to have the inflamed red peaks soothed by the broad soft tongue and sucked into that wet succulent mouth until he was shamelessly begging: “Ron, fuck, motherfuck, please, now… motherofgod, you crazy bastard, now…”

“You said you’ll show me…” the big wet mouth suddenly whispered right next to his ear and Draco vaguely remembered making some promise of that kind, though he couldn’t remember for the love of god as to why when the broad tongue licked his ear, because the redhead clearly didn’t need any showing, he was a goddamn God of sex, the best there were, Draco has never felt so achingly hard and needy in his life…

But then a word floated in his mind and he remembered… “ _first_ ”… he was going to be Weasley’s first manfuck and if that was the case, then there was no more time to waste. He forgot about his plans of letting the redhead play in and learn from him, this was too goddamn urgent and Draco needed to come, he needed to come soon or something will explode, his dick or his head, because he couldn’t handle any more of Weasley, this man was his over-dose – desperately desired but all in all too destructive.

He knocked him over with a strength of a desperate man and straddled him, breathless and with a feral look in those silver eyes and when the redhead flashed a sudden blissful smile at him, he realized he might have stumbled across another fantasy coming to life, this time not merely one of his own.

“You want to be fucked, then, you randy ginger slut?” he asked him through gritted teeth, for once not minding the language, but spelling out every single thought that crossed his mind. When Weasley didn’t reply but merely gently bit his lower lip and stared at him provokingly, he almost growled in frustration, because this wasn’t working, Weasley wasn’t only living up to his expectations, he was exceeding them by fucking miles, acting all crazy and sexy and innocent - a combination Draco had no hope of  _ever_  getting out of his system.

“Fucking Weasel… you fucking giant crazy tease… playing all innocent and sexy, when you’re just a fucking sex beast and… oh, goddamn you, Ron, fuck…   _please_  let me do that…” The redhead had just slipped one of his hands under his own faded t-shirt and Draco could see him going for a nipple. He could see the outline of the long fingers close around it, squeezing it, rubbing it playfully and he  _ached_   to be the one to do that. He had no second thoughts about getting rid of the offensive fabric in the way and if Weasley was going to be a whiny pussy about his favourite t-shirt, then once this was over, Draco was willing to compensate him with a whole bloody factory that made these abominable things, workers and machinery complete! With this in mind he tore it in half with one brutal desperate pull and just caught a blissful lopsided smile before he practically attacked the perfect hard pebbles already standing to attention.

It earned him a loud moan of pleasure and god, how he enjoyed ravaging those tiny provoking peaks and Weasley with them! The redhead was cursing quietly, bucking into his mouth, seeking friction and comfort all in one, while Draco licked, pulled and nibbled on the sensitive buttons with little mercy, driving the redhead and himself closer and closer to the edge of pleasure until he heard him give a strained quiet moan: “I’ll get a nipple ring… for you… to play with…” and he gave a loud yelp of surrender, no longer certain of himself if he could stop on time. He felt the long freckled fingers seek grip in his hair, trying to pin him down and deliver on the pleasure his mouth was promising, and it was that neediness that pulled Draco forward to his final destination.

“You wanna fuck me?” he asked him breathless, not bothering with the niceties anymore, because this was urgent, too bloody urgent for fancy words. “I’ll let you fuck me, I’ll let you bloody tear me apart if you must, but if you’ve never done it… want me to..?”

He didn’t need to finish. The long fingers gripped his hair and pulled his head backward so he was suddenly staring in those hypnotic blue eyes and Ron hissed through gritted teeth somewhat out of breath:

“You said you’d be my first. Do I fucking look like I don’t want it?! Do what you must, Malfoy, just… don’t ruin it for me,” he finished quietly and stared at him, expectation, trust, innocence and lust all mingled in those bottomless blue eyes; a lethal aphrodisiac that made Draco’s dick throb with a sudden painful surge of raw life, making him groan like a trapped animal.

This was clearly enough of a confirmation for Ron, as his fingers deftly moved to finally free Draco’s tortured erection from its confines, but still took their time to outline the shape of his trapped member, before they finally granted it much wanted release. His sighed “ _oh,yeah_ ” mingled with Draco’s loud moan of relief, when the eager swollen prick practically sprang into his hand, and Ron began running his fingers up and down the length of it ever so gently, a pleased smile on his face reminding Draco of a giant ginger cat playing with its prey.

“You’re so beautiful,” the redhead whispered while his fingers learned the form and the texture of the cock that was dripping with want to finally enter and claim him. “You feel perfect in my hand… just like I knew you would,” he added right before his fingers gripped around the girth of his shaft tightly and he began wanking him off in earnest. Draco could hardly believe that the scream echoing around the room came from himself. And then there was keening and begging for harder, faster, more…

“Am I doing this right?” whispered the redhead with a tension and urgency in his voice that did nothing to conceal how much he was enjoying this. “I dreamed about it, you know, I’d fucking wanted it before I knew sex existed, you were my first wet dream… and now you’re here and you’re about to fuck me and I can’t bloody wait… don’t make me wait, Draco….”

“Yes, now… oh, god, yes, now… “ the blond was blabbing, completely out of his wits from a pulsating fever spreading from his loins, rendering him speechless and entirely unable to think about anything else than burying himself, fast and deep, into the redheaded god underneath him, begging to be taken. He somehow managed to fetch the lube without hexing off most of the furniture in its way and his fingers were shaking so badly in the urgency of his need that he broke the lid before the tube opened. A loud “fuck!!!” and a long stream of other obscenities followed in his frustration, until Ron finally took matters into his own hands, quite literally, and broke the tube in half with a simple snap.

“There,” he said softly and watched Draco sink the shaky fingers in a shiny expensively smelling liquid. With no time to lose, Draco coated his shaft in a thick layer with a speed of a man possessed, pushed the redhead’s legs up and around him unceremoniously and without another word finally slipped one slick finger inside the puckered hole, exposed to his touch. And just watched the blue eyes grow wide and tense, all in one, his heart almost beating its way out of his chest.

“Shhh, just... relax... yeah, just like that... god, you’re tight... you want it, I can tell, you want it... here comes another one.... shhh, baby, let me take care of you.... just let me... oh, yeah, just like that...”

Ron’s muscled contracted around his fingers as he finally found  _that_  spot and the redhead gave a barely muffled scream when he began massaging it expertly and saw him absolutely melt under their pressure. The redhead had closed his eyes, his hips moving with hungry needy speed and he was making the world’s most gorgeous, most undoing sounds of surrender and lust Draco has ever heard coming from a human being. He was so unforgettable just lying there in front of him, with his arms above his head in a gesture of surrender, body stretched and tense and his to have that it almost burst his heart wanting to own this man and he couldn’t help being gentle and caring and giving a fuck, just the way he knew he shouldn’t. He tried to compensate with his words, rough and filled with the lust bursting through him, but he knew they barely hid how vulnerable he really felt, wanting the redhead so much, too much.

“I knew you’d like it... yeah, you slut… just keep on fucking yourself on them, get used to it... I’ll give you more... I’ll give you all of it... see how you like that... ohhhh, Ron!!!” he all but howled helplessly when his cock finally started its journey inside that tight slick cave… and it felt like heaven. He pushed inside him, inch by inch, he could no longer stop if there was a wand at his head ready to hex him… this was just too exquisite… Not only the feeling of tight muscles making room for him, accommodating him, straining him until he saw stars, but this… the look on his face once he was inside him. Those incredible eyes completely focused on him, trusting him, never leaving his face… the soft red mouth, always as tempting as sin, exhaling soft short puffs of air as he was trying to give him what he wanted so badly, what they both did – and then the moment of surrender, when he was finally in all the way, desperately trying not to come the second those endless legs wrapped around his waist and closed around him, locking him in, bringing him closer and Ron arched his body…

Draco’s first push was one of a pure need, shallow, helpless, making him cry out at the overwhelming sensation of it and then the hard sculpted muscles under his hands stretched like a bow and Ron pushed himself onto him, asking, inviting, begging with no words to finish this impossible crazy dance they started unaware of each other’s feelings and Draco began fucking him in earnest. Only it was much more than that. Once the blue eyes closed and his head shot backwards, exposing the endless white neck and the fiery hair spilled around him like a lake of molten lava, Draco could think of nothing else than making this man scream his throat raw in pleasure.

The image of the redhead was heart-stopping in its beauty with his head trashing about and the soft lips whispering obscenities, spilling secret desires, keening around his name… Draco was lost and he knew it. He was moving with erratic pace now, changing the hard short shoves targeted at his prostate for long forceful ones that were making him see stars and yelp the loudest and all this time he was only thinking of making Ron come so hard he would never forget who took him there.  He was his first, first one allowed in this beautiful tight virgin hole, and he had a crazy idea that he wanted to be his only one. He would not be forgotten, he would ruin Weasley for every other man just as the redhead was ruining him by saying all those sweet sexy words, whispering his name, giving himself to him so entirely.

He felt the muscles in his arse clenching tightly around him, milking the juices and screams out of him and he heard him stutter incoherently: “So close… please… Draco… need to… need to come… make me come, baby, please… make me… make me… yours, Draco…” And Draco coudn’t hold back anymore. The howl he gave was out of this world, “ _Ron!!!_ ”, and he rammed into the redhead’s body with a force that moved the bed, literally pushing them over the edge, pounding into him unabashedly throughout their climax and his screams, filling him up with hot spurts of come over and over again, cursing and stuttering his name like a prayer, confessing the broken endearments he would later hope the redhead never heard because he was too far gone himself.

He fell on top of him boneless, breathless and feeling so completely drained and fulfilled all in one that it took him forever to find any other thoughts other than his name and it took him another eon to figure out he was actually saying it out quietly, over and over again, like a charm that would keep him feeling warm and completely happy…  _Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron_ … He shut his mouth abruptly once he heard himself, too mortified for words, too stunned by the recognition to be able to find an excuse. What has Weasley done to him?! Draco did the fucking, everything worked out just like he planned to, but somehow this one thing, so out of his character, has left him with a feeling that he wasn’t completely in charge after all.

He had to get away and quickly. Away from the enchanting body heat that was making him melt down onto the sweat-drenched skin of the young man underneath him, holding onto him, making him feel safe and wanted; away from the mesmerizing heartbeat drumming against his face, resting on the broad chest; away from the enchanted tattoo on his hip, indeed one of a silver dragon that had spread its wings and puffed ticklish hot flames down his skin as if trying to replicate the feelings of his owner’s arousal… away from the long fingers that somehow found a way into his hair and threaded through it almost lovingly.

But he couldn’t move. Just one more moment, he told himself. And another. He was tired, just tired, that’s what it was. He made the effort to slide out of him, because he knew just how bad he’ll have it even without that and felt him wince and go still. But that was it. No attempt to throw him off, no sign Weasley was eager to leave and leave him behind. Just a hand that pulled a bit more tightly at his hair at the moment of discomfort and then continued to find ways to thread through the tangled strands of hair; an act of affection if there ever was one.

He finally stretched his head upwards and chanced a look at him. The redhead was watching him, the expression on the relaxed freckled face unfathomable, the blue eyes soft and almost glowing in the poorly lit room and Draco felt his heart squeeze at the sudden thought that he was about to let go, that he will soon lose the precious sight.

And just like that Ron pulled him up with no effort and kissed him on the mouth, an act of intimacy so unexpected that Draco’s lips responded before his brain could.

“You were a good first,” he whispered against his mouth and continued to kiss him some more, waking up a storm of feelings Draco desperately needed to shut down.

“Of course I bloody well was,” he mumbled between kisses in a typical Malfoyian fashion, hopelessly trying to conceal how discomposed this afterglow intimacy has left him. “I was bloody brilliant! The Mud… you girlfriend can’t compare!” And that’s when the redhead stilled for a moment and exhaled softly on top of his mouth. Then he pulled Draco’s face into the crook of his neck as if he didn’t want him to see his own face and said in the quietest of voices: “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

It took a while for Draco to process what he had said… but once he did, he abruptly tore his face from the small shelter he was enjoying and stared at him incredulously.


	4. Slumming... just slumming

“You mean you never…?” he started with awe in his voice but stopped when he saw Ron turn his face away and the familiar blush crept up his neck. “But that means I was… Was there anyone else?! What was that stupid bird’s name… the one that looked like a puffed-up chicken… some flower… Lavender, was it? She was all over you once… Have you done it with her, then?”

No answer. Not for the longest time. And then just a small shake of the head and a soft: “I told you, you were my first. I meant it.”

“But how come you never…” Draco stopped again, with a million questions fluttering around his head, knocking one into another like startled birds, but too flabbergasted to make any of them come out coherent. The only clear though that stroke through the mess in his head was that Weasley, Ron, has chosen him to be his first, his  _first_ first, and he didn’t even know… But why?! Why him?! And why didn’t he say anything?! Well, truth be spoken, Weasley didn’t exactly choose him, Draco had kind of made that choice for him, but he could have said “no” and he didn’t…

And what the fuck was wrong with the stupid Mudblood that she hasn’t done it with him yet?! Was she retarded or what?! Completely frozenly frigid!? How could she even keep her hands to herself around him?! Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to, the redhead smelled of sex to him from 10 feet away and he didn’t even love him, did he?! Did he?! Or did he…? No, that was not the time for that thought, there will  _never_  be a time for such an impossible thought…

His drunk-like hectic thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice when the redhead seemed to have finally found the words to answer to his question. And in spite of the softness, there was something bitter in his words.

“Hermione is not like others… she’s not some slut, fucking around, like others do. She wants to wait, till we do it properly, engagement and all… She… does things for me… but we never… not like this,” he finished quietly and was startled by the sharp sound of Draco’s laughter.

_ Oh.My.God.  _ The stupid oblivious Weasel was actually  _waiting_ , while the brilliant woman played him like a flute! Of course the forbidden fruit was the sweetest, of course _it bloody well was_! He won’t be able to fucking  _wait_  for their wedding- or engagement- or whatever the fuck night she was going to make it; he’s going to be so eager to get it by that time it won’t even matter if she’s any good or not! But Draco’s laughter was not merely at the expense of the stupid Gryffindors, playing their retarded childish obsolete games of courting and chivalry. It hurt.

It hurt unexpectedly, that Weasley thought so much of that girl - any girl, anyone else – that he was willing to wait. His passion and sex-appeal and his war-hero status aside - when he should be having more sex than a herd of rabbits, he was waiting for this one person. He must truly love her, then. And the thought somehow made him inexplicably sad and angry. But then he chanced another look at him and he discovered unexpected array of feelings in the blue eyes staring at the blank space. Not so much devotion, but rather… despair? Was this about something else, perhaps? Perhaps, as brilliant as the Mudblood was, was she playing his greatest weakness against him, making him feel as if he wasn’t good enough for her?

And that made Draco livid. How  _could_  she?!  _And how could he?_! Even if the Weasleys  _were_  a joke among the purebloods for their poverty - were they too poor to afford a mirror?! Did Weasley  _ever_  take a good long hard look at himself in one of those and saw what was impossible to miss!? A bloody sex god, if there ever was one! A perfect male specimen, brilliant eyes, silken hair, golden-speckled skin, endless legs, a pureblood…. He couldn’t even think about him without getting hard! Fuck, he couldn’t take his eyes off him, couldn’t keep his hands away! And his taste was impeccable, he was a bloody Malfoy after all, wasn’t he, and Malfoy’s only wanted the best! Only this time, someone else was about to get the best – Draco just stole a moment in time from their eternity together and as important as the first time was, it was hardly for all times… And that’s what  _she_  was getting. No more for him, for Draco. He just got everything he was ever about to get. And that pissed him off. And he got rough.

“If you think that the Mudblood is going to be worth the wait, you’re sorely mistaken!” the blond laughed at his face, but it came out more alike a bark than a proper laughter.

“Don’t call her that!” hissed Ron and pulled away from him abruptly, visibly hurt and with a strange vulnerability radiating from his eyes that almost broke Draco’s resolve to make him pay, to hurt him for… he didn’t want to think about why he wanted to hurt Weasley; after all, he  _always_  wanted to hurt Weasley, it was inherent to his nature, why would now be any different?!

“Well, you’re in for a shock of your life, if you think any cunt’s worth the wait,” said Draco deliberately crass and stared at him with what he hoped looked like disdain. “You’re even dumber than you look if you think she’ll be all that. When the first excitement is over, she’ll be just another hole to fill and you… you’ll wish for some experience to make her scream. And it will be too late, because a fucked-up honourable daft Gryffindor, that you are, you’re not going to cheat on her and she’ll be your one and only and you’ll be her first and last and you’ll both be miserable together. What you should be doing, you stupid wanker, is going out there and fuck anything that moves while you still can! Or at least make her feel that you’re willing to, and see how long she sticks to her resolve to wait! If you’re too stupid to see that you’re the one who’s a bloody prize…” he cut his words abruptly, realizing that he’d gone too far, that he had said too much.

“And what is your interest in seeing me happy?” said Ron, his voice suddenly cold, razor sharp, with the bitter pain in it unmistakable. He got up to put his clothes on and Draco’s mouth went dry at the symphony of movements this man was to him. “Why did you choose me in the first place, if you think I’m such a moron, you prick?! Why me, you bastard!? Why do you always pick on me, the worthless one, when I’ve already got next to nothing to lose?! And you, who’s always had it all, thought it was a good idea to take what little was left?! Why, Draco?!”

The blond shivered inadvertently. He had called him by his first name and it broke something inside of him that he thought long dead. And then there was a strange moisture in those brilliant blue eyes and it took everything Draco Malfoy was raised to be not to slip at that moment and tell him the truth.

“Because you were there,” he told him coolly. “Because you were convenient and I knew you were going to be easy. Because you’re hot in your own cheap way and I felt like slumming.”

“Fuck you,” said Ron quietly, staring directly at him and the blond felt his resolve and his lies melting into the thin air under the weight of those unfathomable blue eyes. “Fuck you, you Slytherin coward. You’ll do well to stay away from me from now on. I stand by what I said, though. You were a good first. And I thank you for that. But come near me again and I’ll break you till you  _ooze_  true feelings and I’ll fucking  _drown_  you in them, snake. Cause you can pretend for your audience and yourself if you must, but I know what this was. I _felt_  it _. And so did you._ ”

And before he had a chance at reply, Ron was gone with a soft pop of disapparation and Draco collapsed into himself. Weasley had taken with him everything that was worth anything. There was nothing left to hold him up.  



	5. When once is not enough...

It took Draco a week to pull himself together enough to go looking for him. A week filled with lies to the man in the mirror, that he didn’t need him, that he didn’t need anyone. A week of stalking him at work and backing off when he actually got a chance to be near him, leaving him with a fluttering heart and desperate for a wank. A week full of tossing and turning over in bed, pursuing the elusive sleep, and quietly cursing “the bloody Weasel”, only to finally sink into the most wonderful dream and waking up covered in sweat and come, his name still on his lips… A week, to finally break down and admit to himself that this obsession with the redhead was no passing matter and it was draining him of all other thoughts and purposes. He couldn’t kick-start his life with things between them as they were and it was sheer desperation that dragged him once again into the overcrowded pub on a Friday night, where he knew he was going to find them. He did his job as a stalker well, as well as anything else he put his heart in. He knew where to go looking. But he didn’t know what he was going to find.

The first thing he saw when his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the pub was the flushed face of the Mudblood and caught her voice almost shrill with excitement:

“… and then we made up and he showed up with this ring and now we’re engaged, Gin, can you believe that?! We’ll be sisters-in-law soon!”

His heart sunk with a speed that almost made him feel faint and he closed his eyes because he felt the world might start spinning. He desperately needed to get a grip. He was a bloody Malfoy, he’s not going to make a fool of himself because of some redheaded idiot! This was… he wasn’t eating properly this week, that’s what it was. He needed to leave and get some food into himself and just forget about this whole ridiculous idea of making up with Weasley. Malfoys and Weasleys didn’t mix. He should have known better. It was… this was a horrible idea. He wasn’t thinking straight. Food, or lack of it, again, probably.

Except when he opened his eyes he stared directly into the brilliant blue orbs just inches from him and he swayed a little. He couldn’t fight Weasley with Weasley around. He was just standing there, for once in a button-down electric blue shirt that looked crisp and brand new and made his brilliant eyes look as blue as the star-speckled Universe and he was close enough to melt any resistance Draco might have had left with his mind-numbing body heat and oh, that motherfucking scent of male sex that followed him everywhere...

“What are you doing here?” the redhead asked quietly, curtly, but with no malice in his voice as he continued to stare at him intensely, dissolving his insides as easy as hot acid, leaving him burning and yearning for a touch. “Came to slum some more?” he added, his voice barely above whisper and the small bitter line near the soft mouth finally undid what was left of Draco Malfoy.

“No... it’s... never mind... I… was just leaving,” managed Draco, desperately relying on years of drill to keep cool and composed under any circumstances. Damn him to hell and back if he’s going to give the Weasel here the satisfaction to see him as ruined as he felt! He straightened up and turned abruptly to make good on his words and when he reached the door and the redhead never attempted to stop him, he had one last thought of at least going down with dignity. He grabbed the door knob with shaky fingers and chanced a look over his shoulder, one last one, he told himself, just one, for everything this could have been. And he felt his fingers give a vicious grip around the doorknob, looking for an anchor under the most curious look in those mesmerising eyes.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” he said quietly and with as much grace as he could, but before Ron could answer an arm slid around his waist and the curly head of Hermione Granger leaned into his shoulder lovingly:

“Well, thank you, Malfoy,” she said sweetly, but for once her usually soft brown eyes shone hard as diamonds. “Mind giving me an engagement present, though? How about you bugger off, hm? You see, Ron here is kind of allergic to you and last time you interfered, I’ve lost him for the night. And I appreciate if this was not the case tonight, because we have…  _other_  plans.” She looked at the redhead with a blissful promising smile and Draco knew there was nothing left for him here. And yet… he felt the heat flush in his cheeks – a sensation that he was hardly familiar with - but what was ever usual when Weasley was involved? He just knew that even if it meant he had burned all the bridges, he couldn’t let her have the last word.

In one long stride he was near her and his mouth was next to her ear before she could react. His words were no more than a whisper, but pure undiluted poison:

“Make sure you give it to him, you Mudblood bitch. Fuck him long and hard, cause he’s worth every inch on him… or I’ll personally find someone who’ll do it. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing right here, you slimy Queen of Mindfuck, but I’ll let you know one thing: this pureblood is worth ten of you, your brain and all… And he’s going to wake up one day and see you for who you are - and so will you, into a world without him. See how you like that!”

He could hear her shocked gasp, he caught a glimpse of Weasley’s outstretched arm, but he didn’t wait around to see what the gesture was all about as he didn’t bother to go for the door anymore, but he disapparated from the spot. He knew he had doomed himself, but the devastated look in her eyes was at least a bit of a consolation. Just a touch of bitter acid into her cup of victory, because now she knew someone was onto her game.

He sought shelter in his new flat, he couldn’t handle going to the Manor that night and  _talk_  to people, answer questions, be fussed about. He needed to be on his own, in this one place where he could still pretend he could smell the faint traces of his presence and this night it was the only thing that could put him to peace. Without further ado, he threw himself on the bed, the one he only cleaned by magic, but never bothered to change the linen just to keep the promise of that heavenly scent around. And he closed his eyes to keep that one precious image locked inside. That look in his eyes… that last one, before the Mudblood interfered… he couldn’t decipher it, but there was something in there that didn’t belong with the man who warned him to stay away. It was almost like… longing and… He never got to finish that thought.


	6. Second time... with no end in sight

The soft pop of apparition broke the soothing silence of his lonely quarters and for a second he caught a flash of red and the next thing he knew there was Ron Weasley kneeling next to the bed, cupping his face in his large hands and his big warm mouth sought him out.

Yeah…  that was it… the Mudblood managed to hex him before he disapparated and now he was dead and all misery gone. What else could this be? After a week of self-denial and raging hunger to feel his presence again, Ron Weasley was finally here and what he did with his mouth was surely taking Draco Malfoy down the road to the deepest halls of Hell, he could feel the heat already. The warm fingers crawled into his hair, pinning him down so the soft sinful mouth could thoroughly kiss the last of his life out of him, he inhaled that incredibly erotic faint scent of shampoo when the silken curtain of red hair closed off his view and sunk his world into a red half-shadow – and suddenly all his numbed senses burst to life at the same time.

Blood slammed through him in a massive onslaught of need and arousal and he knew he wanted to live; he wanted to live more than anything to keep feeling this those warm hands anchoring him, the hint of that magnificent body pinning him down, the sweet hot mouth bringing life… It felt as if every starved kiss, every desperate lick of the silken tongue, every ungodly sound torn between a sob and a cry for more added up to the flames burning through his body and soul and leaving a new man in their wake.

“You came…” he heard Ron whisper between kisses and he was almost as desperate for his voice to acknowledge this as he was for his mouth to keep feeding the fire that burnt through him with so much devastation. “God, you came… even though I told you to stay away… I tried to warn you what would happen… and you still came… Sweet Merlin, how I need you… I have no words for this… I don’t know what this is, but when I saw you standing there... you were everything I ever wanted… Draco… I need… please…”

The redhead bit his lip in desperation and drew blood and nothing, absolutely nothing could make Draco happier in that moment. And yet he couldn’t tell him that, he couldn’t give that much of himself away when he barely kept himself together with what little he had left.

“Of course I came, you crazy redheaded fuckwit, you can’t possibly think mere words.... your words... could keep me away from something I want... and you.... I want... Weasley... Ron... ohhhh....”

His fierce strained whisper drowned in a load moan, drawn from him when the redhead buried his face into the crook of his neck and the sensation of silken hair and soft mouth teasing his skin melted what little was left of his rational brain.

“Tell me what you want,” the beautiful creature ravaging him demanded almost brutally. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you... Anything... Anything you want... I couldn’t stop thinking about you this whole-fucking-endless week... I dreamed of you, I came all over myself in my sleep, thinking of you, of what we did... I just couldn’t get you out of my mind... And I thought I’d lost you... after what I’d said... But you came... you came to find me and I couldn’t let you go... I told her I’ll settle this once and for all... and I left her, though she begged me not to... and I came here, praying you’ll be there... cause I need you... I fucking need you, Draco... I’ll do anything, anything you want... just let me stay tonight...”

He didn’t know what a balm for the Draco’s soul his words were, how overwhelming it felt to have his feelings reciprocated, to know that his cursed aching longing echoed inside the redhead like he could never hope it would ... to have him yield and say it, like he could never say it himself... to hear him beg, when he didn’t need to beg at all... at least he could give him that. And he would.

“Shut up, you stupid gorgeous idiot... God, was there ever a man so oblivious?! Shut up, Ron, and stop begging...” the blond whispered heatedly, urgency and need crawling through every word that came out of his mouth. “You had me when we were fucking eleven and you looked at me with those fierce eyes… I couldn’t help fantasising about you, just coming in… and messing me up just like I knew you could… For years and years… that was my only fantasy… God, this fucking mouth of yours… I filled it up with my come at night… in my dreams… more times than I can count… I stalked you in the Quidditch changing rooms and wanked myself raw watching you play with yourself time and time again… I was right up there with you, when you sprayed the wall with your come… Christ it was a torture… the most refined kind… I hated you… and yet I could barely walk because of you. And it’s happening again... why the fuck do you think I came looking for you?! So your frigid fiancée could tell me to fuck off?! I think... not. So shut this gorgeous fucking mouth of yours, because I can think of a million better uses for it and.... ohhhh, Ron, you bastard,  _please_ …”

The red head had just sunk down his body and the only trace left behind him was a soft lethal whisper “Oh, so it’s my mouth you want… it’s my mouth you’re gonna get, gorgeous… for you, love…” And he couldn’t remember getting naked, but he was and suddenly that incredible talented mouth was on top of his monstrous erection, teasing and rolling a fucking tsunami of pleasure down his body in a most tantalizing of ways and Draco couldn’t stop himself from yelping... and begging... and begging some more.... Fucking that luxurious red soft mouth was his most primal fantasy, the sensation overflowing him was so exquisite that he caught an echo of his needy voice before he could undo the damage:

“God, I love you... Ron… please don’t stop, baby… _ohgodfuckingdamnyou_ , please let me come down your throat…”

And the redheaded devil said nothing, just closed his eyes, so that long silken eyelashes cast a shadow of innocence down his creamy freckled cheeks, making him look every bit mesmerised by what he was doing and just  _hummed_  around his dick, buried deep inside his throat... And in the end it was the vibration, oh that vicious sexy vibration reverberating right through his very core that uncoiled a thick chain of ecstasy with the speed of light so it snapped around him like a golden whip, branding him with a scream… Draco Malfoy sunk inside the hell-hole of the dooming mouth with no way to save himself and blew his load helplessly like a teenager. And even 20 years from then, exploding inside that slick wet cave closing tightly around him, pumping out his come with all the eagerness of youthful passion, while he got to anchor his fingers into those worshipped silken strands of red-gold and _worship_ his name – even after all this time, this was one of the most mind-blowing orgasms Draco Malfoy has ever had.

His insides were almost aching from the intensity of eruption and for a while he thought he might have hurt himself coming so hard… After all, it wasn’t every day that a man of your dreams sucked your most cherished fantasy right through your cock and into the real world… delivering beautifully, painfully perfect. Oh, no... he didn’t just tell him he _loved_ him, did he? God, he was more fucked up than he thought possible. It was just pillow talk, of course, but better make him forget it and be quick about it...

He rolled him over with determination of a man, desperate to save what was left of his rapidly failing need for control – whatever happened to the man that wanted to fuck Weasley, get him out of his system and forget all about him?? – and asked breathlessly, demandingly, hungry for the answer:

“And you... why are you here? She all but promised to fuck you, it was right underneath her words... why aren’t you there? It’s your engagement party, why are you here, Ron?” His hand found a way on top of his erection, as if resting casually, just a small insurance policy for eliciting a truthful answer. And the man under his hand gave the tiniest of movements, setting an almost imperceptible rhythm in motion, fucking himself against the palm of his hand. His breath hitched and the blue eyes bored directly into his and Draco couldn’t stop himself from mouthing a silent lost “ _fuck, Weasley_...”

“I didn’t want her to have it... I got home last week and I was pissed off at what you had said, pissed off with your lies, pissed off with myself for putting up with everyone’s shit. And I got defiant. And I remembered your words of going out there and make her feel I’m ready to look for what she won’t give me in someone else, so I got drunk and I tried it. And it worked like a charm... She got all livid and screamy at me first, I thought she was going to hex me for good, and I kind of didn’t care anymore …. But then she showed up at this flat Harry and I are renting in the middle of the bloody night, all broken down and sobbing and…  _willing_ , but I kept thinking… no, I can’t give her that.

Cause I dreamed of doing it the whole fucking week, but it was never with her... only you. I couldn’t stop thinking about it… about sinking into you… let you have that, too… this one first time as well… I was never inside anyone in my life and I wanna be inside of you more than anything…  I want it so bad... let me have it, Draco...”

The exquisite blue eyes stared straight at him, the hot hard bulge mounting time and time again against his fingers and for once in his life Draco Malfoy was left without words. But Ron misunderstood and his long fingers cupped his face, his eyes intense, his voice soft and pleading, the need in it unmistakeable: “God, don’t be like that... You taught me how to do it... I’d be careful… I’d let you guide me…  just let me have you, I’ll do anything to make it good for you…, I’ll…”

“Shut up!” Draco finally found his voice and it was raw and hoarse as if he hasn’t used it in a while. “Shut up... you don’t know what you’re talking about... you don’t know what you want... it’s... I’m not who you want... you can’t give me that...”

He stared at Weasley, hoping against hope that he’d somehow be able to mask an avalanche of feelings the open invitation in those innocent sexy eyes put into action. He... he had to stop this... he had to stop this now, before this became something he couldn’t control. He could already feel his feet slipping in the muddy slope of his mounting emotion and he knew that one wrong step would doom him for good. It felt every bit like standing on the very edge of his world, where the Malfoys had control and the gorgeous redheads were just a fuck, staring down the bottomless pit of Ron Weasley’s eyes the colour of innocence which had the power to turn this world upside down and knock the solid ground from under his feet if only he took a step into the unknown... He couldn’t go there, he couldn’t…

“You don’t want me, is that it?” Ron whispered and the light in his eyes began to fade. “You don’t want me and that’s your excuse. You’re just like her, I’m not good enough for you either. I should have known better, but I was hoping… How stupid…”

And Draco found out he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t watch despair and bitterness settle in those sea blue eyes once more, he couldn’t, even if it cost him everything he was. Now he just needed a way to break it to him without breaking himself in the process.

“Shut up,” he told him roughly to mask how fragile he was underneath and when Ron moved to sit abruptly, the hurt still tainting his eyes, Draco’s hand moved on its own accord and pushed him back on the bed before he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t you dare move…” he hissed and Weasley stared at him wide-eyed. “I will tell you this once, only once and expect you to remember: You… are a fucking perfection. And I would  _murder_  to fuck you. I just don’t know what the hell is wrong in that empty head of yours that you keep on doubting yourself, but I’m a Malfoy and we have impeccable taste. I’d never fucking go near you if you weren’t the best there is. And I came to get you, not once, but twice. I won’t lie – after the first time I was hoping that this was it, that I was done wanting you, because I’ve been fucking hard for you ever since we were boys. You make me come all over my sheets at night, you motherfucker, every bloody night, and I wanted to get you out of my system. But it’s seems you’re one hell of a habit that’s just too bloody hard to beat.

Because I wanted to do it again. It took me a goddamn week to get around myself enough to kick away my pride and come at you again. And then I got you and you fucking sucked my brain out of my cock. All of it, it seems, cause for a moment there I thought you might be a bit much for me. But you’re not. So ask me again,” he leaned over him, his eyes menacing and mouth hovering just above his. “Ask me again, Weasley… ask me, Ron… ask me...”

“God, Malfoy… let me have you… please…” the redhead blurted out and earned himself a tiny enticing kiss just at the corner of his mouth.

“Good boy, Weasley…” purred Draco. “Now tell me – why…”

He knew he had him the moment the sinful hips began rubbing against the palm of his hand all over again and Ron’s blue eyes closed in on his.

“Cause I can’t stop thinking about you, about what you did to me... She never felt so good, no one could ever feel so good... so fucking beautiful and graceful... All I have to do is close my eyes and it’s all over my head, that incredible perfect skin of yours, so close... so untouchable and smelling so expensive, so insanely needy...  and those long lean limbs of yours... moving with such perfection... moving on top of me... moving inside me... fuck, Draco... please....”

The blond began kissing him in earnest, soft mouth working him with skill and urgency that had him see stars and for a while neither of them had enough breath to spare to say another word.

“ _Godfuckingdamnyou_ , Weasley,” finally blurted Draco, blood pounding through his veins and into all the right body parts like a sledgehammer. “You have some fucking foul mouth on you, man... you could make a man come with your fucking words alone... keep talking, you fucking mouth-tease... I want to hear you say it... every last word of how bad you have it for me... cause it goes straight to my cock, you vile-minded motherfucker... your every hot breath, every moan, every fucking hands-down-your-pants fantasy you ever had about me... I wanna lick it out of your mouth while you talk... feed myself on it... and you’re not getting it, none of it, until you have me so fucking melted you’ll slide inside me on your own, you fucking... oh, God... sweet Merlin, fuck, Ron, you didn’t...”

The redhead had used the break between their mind-melting kissing to toy with the blond’s hand, slowly licking one finger after another, sucking gently and scraping the soft skin with his teeth and it channelled and fuelled Draco's hot-molten desire as if he was doing it straight to his cock. Then a slow sexy smile spread on those full lips and with a small invitation in his exquisite eyes the Gryffindor casually reached up to his own shirt and began tearing it apart with abandon, not minding the tiny buttons rolling off in every direction, just looking absolutely edible in his savagery. The hot flushed skin slowly came into view, but for once it was not its bone melting scent that undid Draco. With no words, Ron had casually taken a hold of Draco’s hand, still wet from the lascivious tongue, and led it under the shredded silken material. And there, under the folds of the soft fabric Draco’s fingers brushed against something that made all the blood in his body press against the walls of his cock with a rush. 

A nipple ring... the redheaded motherfucker went and got himself a nipple ring, just like he promised... But not just any nipple ring. It was one of a small dragon with his tail piercing the nipple and the tiny real-life claws closed around the sensitive peak, while the fierce crystal eyes shone like blue flames. Resting against taut pink nipple, puffing numbly, it was irresistible. Draco let out a helpless moan and launched at it hungrily. He licked it eagerly and proceeded to devour it quickly, but as soon as he let it slide between his lips, he felt it give a tiny hot puff and a burn, just a little one, just enough for Draco, always in a search for a thin line between pleasure and pain, to cry out in need...  “ _Fuck, Ron…_ ” And the redhead just smiled at him blissfully, a little breathless.

“Yeah,  _I know_ … you have no idea how it feels against my skin… got it from Charlie… such a bloody pervert, this brother of mine… he said it’d suit me, he said I should try… the fucker… but I never had a reason, a special someone to put it in for… and now I do… so I did it and it hurt like a motherfucker, but I did it… for you… Dragon for Draco… reminds me of our first night… the way you chewed at my nubs… Christ, man… yessss…. Just like that… oh, my fucking God, please… stop making me come in my pants…”

Draco’s brain was so foggy with lust that it took Ron’s hand crawling on top of his, still rubbing against the thin, impossibly tented fabric, to notice, that in fact, the redhead never managed to take his clothes off. But he noticed now and he needed him naked, right now, right fucking now, dammit!

“Off!” he managed, but that was bloody well it, he was too blurred up for speech, there were other things that needed his attention… And who the fuck was the idiot that invented the fucked up button on Ron Weasley’s pants?! Surely he never tried opening it himself while he’s mouth was full of Ron Weasley’s ungodly delicious tongue, doing most sacrilegious things to his melting insides… Finally, finally he had him free and suddenly his hand was full of him, his hard hot shaft pushing into the palm of Draco’s hand, seeking friction and the redhead moaned most heavenly…

“Shit…”whispered the blond, suddenly unable to hold back… “Shit, Weasley, you motherfucker... get inside me… get inside me  _now_  or I’ll come just from watching you… God, I need you… oh, yeah, like that… I love it when you get all manly and forceful on me… I love being underneath you… just don’t get any ideas outside of bed…”

Ron had managed to get the blond pinned underneath him and when once again he captured his mouth hungrily, Draco had felt him smile into his mouth at those last words of his. And somehow his world was perfect once again when the redhead mumbled quietly:

“Shut up, you sexy git, you’re getting me all flushed and panting here… don’t need your fucking attitude in bed or I just might have to teach you a lesson… I bet you’d like that… oh,  _now_  we’re moaning, are we…”

Indeed, Draco stupid horny mouth, which seemed to have gotten totally disconnected from his brain, gave a loud, most undignified pleading whimper that would make him want to sink into the ground on any other occasion… but right now it just felt right… it felt like the fucking top of the world being able to express how much he wanted this, how badly he needed it…

“Christ, you’re hot when you moan like that… see, if I can make you beg… I’d like that even better…” The redheaded devil whispered heatedly against his skin and Draco was already seeing stars from the impossible wet friction all over him. But needy as he was, the Slytherin was not giving up a fight that easy, fuck that gorgeous giant Gryffindor rubbing against him, he could still manage a small retort… just a tiny one…

“God, yesss… I bet you can’t wait, I bet you get hard just picturing me on my knees, hungry for your cock, begging for it…  _who’s moaning now_?” hissed Draco, but a small pleasure at making the redhead give the same needy sound that escaped him before drowned in the downright keening when the soft maddening mouth closed in on his pulse and their chests aligned – and the tiny enchanted beast around Ron’s nipple had sought him out and bit him…  It took everything Draco had not to come on the spot. The tiny metallic mouth held his rosy peak between its teeth, scraping lightly, connecting their bodies together and Draco was begging:

“Please, God, dear God, make it stop, I can’t hold back any more, I can’t…”

And just like that the little mouth was gone and the only thing on Draco’s mind was “ _in_ ”… he needed Weasley  _in_ , he needed him in  _now_ , buried inside him, pumping him with his glorious engorged shaft, fucking himself inside him and he can fucking  _stay_  in there, forever, for all Draco cared, as long as he gave it to him hard and fast. It’s been ages since he was filled up with a cock to the brim and right now,  _right fucking now_  he needed it so bad he almost saw black.

“Lube,” he whispered and then “lube, fucking lube, get it, you wanker, can’t you see this is a fucking emergency… oh… oh, you already did… Merlin, I’m glad that for once you’ve been paying attention… oh, yeah… just like that… oh, baby, yeah… so good… oh, you incredible bastard, you should have those gorgeous… oh… fingers of yours … registered as a fucking weapon… you’re killing me here… I’ll fucking  _murder_  whoever you’ve been practising on… you’re  _mine_  now… d’you hear me?! Mine…  _minemineminemine_ … oh…” he cupped his face in his hands the second those heavenly fingers got replaced by something far bigger, seeking entrance into his tiny puckered hole, slick and stretched to accommodate him and the breath was knocked out of him at the unrelenting invasion.

His eyes watered and for a second there he thought the goddamn Weasley was too thick, the motherfucker was huge, he wasn’t going to fit… but then the slicked-up cock slid past a ring of muscles… and just a little bit further… making way, seeking place and everything inside Draco adjusted around it as if he knew he was finally being mastered. And then Ron Weasley was balls deep inside him, staring down his face with those incredible blue eyes and his soft red mouth was moving as if he was saying something, but Draco couldn’t hear anything past the sudden rushing of blood in his ears that brought along incredible longing and need…

“… you alright?” Ron was asking, anxious for a reply, anxious, oh so anxious to move, because this was just too exquisite, too tight, so close to heaven…

“Oh,  _youmotherfuckingobliviousweasel_ , I’ll fucking hex you to hell and back if you don’t move right now,  _right fucking now_!” blurted Draco, nothing short of a howl and then for a long while he said nothing, because Ron started moving and there really wasn’t anything else to say. There was no place for words in the incoherent savage world he was pushed in with every shove, with every desperate retreat, every whispered curse, confession of want and admiration, hopelessly gentle kiss. He was being taken apart by Ron Weasley of all people and he loved it, he loved every single commanding shove of the hard arse driving into him, sinking him deeper into his own doom.

The redhead had started slow, his thrusts hard and deep, making the blond moan and beg for faster, more intense fucking, because this slow building pressure was making him lose his mind, marble by marble, but suddenly, perhaps more by accident than skill, the Gryffindor brushed against  _that_  spot inside Draco that made the blond fucking  _convulse_  and scream out loud and then the redheaded beast just knew what to do. Unable to hold back his own stream of profanities, his fucking became erratic, nothing more than a stream of hard crazy fast shoves inside the beautiful blond sprawled in front of him, cause that was all it took to have the gorgeous haughty youth gasp for air and beg him for it, beg for his leaking impossibly hard cock, bursting and  _hurting_  with held back need and the tight hot confines around it.  

And then he got him, he got him right where he wanted him. Oblivious as he was, Ron was far from stupid. He realized a time ago how much it meant to the haughty blond Slytherin to be able to keep his precious feeling of control and he was willing to give it to him... every other time, but now. He had heard him the first time when he blurted out he loved him in his bliss and now he needed to hear it again; he needed to hear it to come, to make them both come, to give himself this small precious gift of absolute devotion, which he knew he was never going to get outside of bed.

So he left him lingering for a second longer, just outside of the reach of the monstrous orgasm he was chasing and leaned over him, covering him with his giant hot body and whispered feverishly:

“ _Now_ , Draco, give it to me now... I need it, I need your fucking gorgeous mouth to say it, I need your body shivering with your words, I need your fucking surrender, you beautiful blond slut, cause there’s no one for me but you... you, sprawled before me, ready for the taking, open, vulnerable, raw,  _mine_ , fucking mine, say you’re mine, say it, say it, say it...”

“Christandmerlin, yesss, yours, Ron, yours,  _yoursyoursyoursyours_.... Ron, oh, fucking Ron, fucking God...”

And just like that Ron slipped inside him one last time, shoving and rocking his hips forward with monstrous force, pushing the confession out of Draco  _“I love you, Ron, god, I love you...”_  and erupting inside him with his worshipped name on his tongue “Draco, oh, my fucking god, Draco, love... beautiful... you... only you... only you... ”.

The redhead bit him in the tender spot just below the elegant neck to shut himself up cause he felt he might start sobbing if he didn’t and his mouth tasted the small droplets of come, sprayed all over the beautiful  torso, because that’s just how hard Draco Malfoy had come. And Ron just stared at him, memorizing the whole perfect symphony of him, the heaving chest, the graceful long limbs, spent and motionless, the tense faraway expression on the patrician face, the silver eyes staring blankly somewhere into the unknown, where he couldn’t follow, even though it was him who put him there.

He slipped out of him, saw him wince in pain and continued to hold on to him tightly. It felt every bit as if his heart was bleeding... He knew he could never have him, he was just too damn precious, so far beyond his reach. He knew he was going to have to build his life away from him and those priceless moments with the warm flawless body clinging onto him, looking for the shelter of his body heat... and it felt like perfection, like a fantasy he desperately didn’t want to give up. But he knew he would have to. Malfoy didn’t care for him outside of the bed, his life was so different, just another side of the spectrum and there was no room for one Ron Weasley in it. So he closed his eyes and decided to enjoy it as long as it lasted. It would be over too soon.

And so he missed it entirely when Draco’s eyes finally came back into focus and stared at him as if he couldn’t believe he was still there and he was real. Feelings have slowly started flowing back into his wasted body and empty mind, entirely transported into a perfect complete bliss for the long moments – and it hurt to be back. He had never felt anything remotely as mind shattering as making love to Ron Weasley. And it was making love, not just fucking, his heart recognized it beyond doubt, and it was leaving him short of breath just thinking about it.

Why did he have to look so enchanting in his colourful serene beauty, the mesmerising eyes closed, the silken strands of liquid fiery hair pouring down his pale freckled face and mingling with his own making it look as blood pooling on the snow. Why him? Why the one person that was on the very opposite side of the spectre of everything Draco was taught to appreciate? And yet - they were perfect together, there was no denying it. Why did he have to let him go? Why couldn’t he be just a fuck, a beautiful, gorgeous, mind-melting fuck Draco could forget about as soon as he was out of his bed? Why did he have to wrap himself around his very core instead make him feel the top of the fucking world and so very miserable at the same time?

He had said those words to him... Those words he never meant to say to anyone, save perhaps to his bride and now he had said it to someone he could never ever have. Ron Weasley. Someone that could give his father a heart-attack and have his mother cringe in disgust. How could he ever hope to be able to follow his heart? He was a Malfoy, the last of his name, things were expected of him. He needed to form a favourable alliance, father a son, do anything and everything to restore his family name back to its former glory and continue the pureblood line. _Weasley was a pureblood._ And that thought almost made him laugh as much as it made him want to cry. He only had to imagine Father’s face if  _that_  was the argument he presented Weasley with as his… well, fuck it, he didn’t even have a word for it, all the standards - like lover, partner, what!? – just didn’t apply! Yeah, that’s just how impossible this was. Never going to happen.

Those words… it was just afterglow, pillow talk, silly mindless things you say in a bliss and never really mean… yeah, that’s what it was… the redhead probably didn’t even hear it, he was pretty far gone himself…  He would forget saying them, _there_ , done, already forgotten. Except that Ron opened his blue eyes at that very moment and looked at him with a dreamy smile. And Draco’s stupid disconnected mouth blurted out on its own: “When can I see you again?”


	7. Can't let you go...

Ron smiled, blissfully this time, the way it reached his sparkling eyes and it took Draco’s breath away, when his fucked up mind stabbed him in the back with a thought that he’ll never be able to wake up to this smile.

“I thought we were done… “ he said, his deep voice in a ridiculous contrast with a child-like wonder in it. “I thought you’d never ask to see me again…”

“Well, I didn’t mean to!” hissed Draco and sat up abruptly, suddenly unexpectedly angry with himself and his stupid desires overcoming his cold intentions; angry with Weasley and his fucking perfect warm smile melting him from the inside; angry at the whole bloody cruel world for falling upside down from one moment to another and making it so impossible for him to be happy. “In fact I don’t know why I bothered in the first place… ”

“Hey… don’t be like that… I just thought… I’ve got nothing left to give you… why would you want to?”

The anguish in his voice and the fact that he had slowly rubbed his big hands over his back, sending shivers down his spine, made Draco sink his face into the palms of his hands and just fucking _dissolve_ for a moment.  Why did this have to be so hard? Why did Weasley have to be so fucking gentle? Why couldn’t Draco just walk away?! Why, why, why?! He knew he could do it, perhaps only for the night, stab him in a beautiful open heart, that stared at him through those innocent eyes, tell him harsh ugly words that would make him turn away and think twice again about wanting _anything_ to do with Draco Malfoy again. But he also knew he’d regret those words the second they’d be out… and he’d probably come crawling right back to him after another week from hell. Something inside him… needed Ron Weasley. Perhaps it was only temporary, perhaps it would dissolve in time, but right now he needed him as much as his lungs needed the precious air. So he had to solve this somehow. He had to find a way to give himself Ron Weasley for as much time as he required to get over him and hope that he’d grow out of him soon. This… it had to get boring some time. But not now. Not yet. Not with Ron’s long fingers rubbing down his spine and his enticing mouth breathing warmly near his ear, whispering softly:

“I’d like that… I’d like that very much… Merlin knows I don’t want another week like this one… thinking about you all the time… fantasising over how good it would feel to sink inside you, move inside you, fuck myself into you… It got so bad I was afraid to close my eyes, cause all I saw was your fucking gorgeous body and I really couldn’t have that. Not all the time, for Merlin’s sake, I can’t function like that. It’s a miracle I didn’t get blown to smithereens this last week on the job… or perhaps not a miracle, more like Harry saving my arse every 5 seconds. He’s a real mate, but even he can’t keep me safe from myself forever. So… perhaps… if you’re willing…”

“Shut up, Weasley…” said Draco who had sometime during this monologue turned his head backward just enough to capture that alluring mouth he was so obsessed with. “Shut up. You talk too much. Kill me if I know why I still want to do this, but… oh, fuck it… next Friday?”

“Can’t…” said Ron between two extra luxurious kisses that kind of made Draco lose focus and most of his edge. But he pulled his blond head away abruptly and stared down Weasley’s eyes with a pissed off look in the stormy grey eyes.

“Look, Weasley, if you think you can fuck around with me and toy with me, you’ve got another think coming...”

But his angry tirade was stopped abruptly by strong fingers, turning him around with no effort whatsoever and moving under his chin, pulling him into another breathless kiss that made him give one of those loud embarrassing moans and left him void of any solid thought.

“Can’t…” repeated Ron, not worried about having to chase his mouth around anymore. “Not Friday… It’s for my mates and if I pulled another stunt like that, they’d start asking question… Merlin Almighty, you taste good… Thursday… I could do Thursday…  yeah, I could _definitely_ fucking do Thursday… Thursday it is… God, your mouth is fucking insane… I can’t even fucking leave…”

“Oh, so you were going somewhere?” murmured Draco, satisfied once the little detail of their next meeting was settled and he felt as if he had gained the upper hand again.

“Oh, yeah… _was_ … definitely in the past now… not going anywhere… not for a while… you, Mister, have several things that I want and I’m not leaving without… this fucking hot body, hottest one on the planet… I want another taste for the week to come… you’ve got my brain hidden somewhere inside that infernal mouth… and I’d like some of it back… to at least function somehow… until the next time we do this… and you’ve got… “

He stopped at these words and looked him straight in the eyes. He put a big palm of his hand on top of his heart and finished softly: “You know what you’ve got… and I know you don’t want to talk about it. But I wouldn’t be here, if you didn’t have it.”

Draco pulled him back onto his mouth and closed his eyes, wishing himself strong not to say those words that were at the tip of his tongue, not to tell him how wretched his honesty had left him. But he meant to show him. He might not have had words for him, but he had himself to give and he would give himself entirely. Ron Weasley was his for the night and Draco meant to destroy him until they’d have to fucking levitate him away!

It was the first time – of many, as it later came to show – that they spent the whole night wrapped around each other. And it wasn’t just fucking, though mostly, yeah, that’s what it was. They fucked like animals –young and healthy and obsessed with each other for too long a time, they couldn’t get enough of it - but they also fell asleep in each other’s arms and at one point Ron even got up and came back with toast and a pot of tea and a fresh idea of how good would the blond look among the shattered remains of the food platter. The Slytherin never laughed so hard in his life as he did when Ron put one of his big fingers in a puddle of spilled tea and proceeded to write his name on his torso in a most ticklish, endearing way: “Property of Ron Weasley – hands off!”, it said in the end and Draco was soaking wet and his stomach muscles hurt from laughter.

“God, you’re an idiot, Weasley,” he finally managed when he caught his breath, but Ron had only smiled good naturedly and mumbled: “Yeah, and you look like a real brain trust with toast in your hair!”

And knowing that there would be a next time, made the goodbye just a little less awkward and a pang of hurt would hit with a delay. When Ron was finally pulling his boots on, Draco was watching him from somewhere inside the crumpled sheets that suspiciously resembled the Gordian knot, desperately trying not to think where he was headed – and failing miserably, because a curious thought that was nudging at his brain the whole evening sprang at him again.

“You know… when you said that you got drunk and tried showing the Mud…, Granger, that you won’t wait for her forever – how on Earth did you go about that?!”

By that time Ron has finished putting his boots on and stood up, ready to go. He smiled blissfully, another one of those sexy innocent smiles that never failed to stop Draco’s heart and said matter-of-factly:

“I kissed Harry.”

And Draco Malfoy froze dead on his bed.

“You… a… _what_...?!”

“Yeah,” said Ron happily, as oblivious as always to another person’s distress. “I got really pissed, you see, and I tried something with her and she pushed me away and told me that I was – I believe she put it – “repulsively drunk”, so I told her - fuck it, maybe she was repulsed by me regardless if I was sober or not, cause she wouldn’t let me near her and perhaps it was time for me to find someone that would appreciate me, the whole of me. So I turned to Harry and I think he was just as pissed as I was, cause I never saw his eyes so fucking big and green so I went on and kissed him. And he’s a real mate, my Harry, it took him like half a second to catch on to my game and he started to make a show of it, kissing me for real, until there were cat-calls and all the shit hitting the fan. If I didn’t know he was head over heels in my sister I’d think he got himself the wrong Weasley, that one!

And I have to give it to Potter, he’s a bloody good kisser, my sister’s a lucky woman, it’s a good thing I was so fucking drunk I barely knew where I was sitting or the bastard would have given me a massive hard-on! And I thought for a second there that he was pushing it a bit - since it was only for show, yeah? – but I was pissed and pissed off and it had felt good, so we just kind of carried on… Anyway, it wasn’t until Ginny had hit us both with a stinging hex that we stopped and by that time the whole hell had broken lose! Ginny was screaming like a banshee, Hermione was crying like a widow and well, Harry and I were both so floored and in so much pain – my fucking sister is vile with that particular hex! – that we only had to look at each other and Harry said: “Home?” And I said “Yep!” and that was it for the bloody evening, we had enough of birds and their bloody drama!

So he apparated us both home and…”

“ _Shut up_!” said Draco as pale as the sheets. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear another word!”

“But…why?” Ron stared across the room at him with complete lack of understanding. “It’s just Harry, you know – my best mate? What could possibly… “

“ _Not.Another.Word_!” said Draco through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to know. And you’ll _never_ lay another finger on Potter again as long as you’re with me, is that clear!?”

And when Ron just stood there with confusion in his big blue eyes, Draco had somehow managed to slip out of the clingy sheets and approached him across the room, magnificent in his naked glory.

“ _Is.That.Clear_?!” he hissed, ready to hex that oblivious redheaded fool into empty space. “You’re mine, you’re _fucking mine_ and I don’t share! It’s bad enough that you have to go back to that bushy-haired bitch of yours – but I suppose that can’t be helped, I might be in a similar situation sooner than I can help it - but I will _not_ , and I repeat, _will not share you_ with anyone else, least of all Potter, do I make myself clear!?”

And for a long second Ron just stared at him before a sweet smile stretched his full lips and he spoke quietly:

“Clear as day, Draco. No one but you… Are you jealous?” he blurted curiously but when he saw a murderous look in his lover’s eyes, he quickly pulled him closer with one of his long arms and kissed him straight on the mouth:

“No, of course you’re not… why would you be… but just in case you were, I’d kiss you… something like this… and tell you… you have no reason to worry… cause I only think about you… and I can’t wait until Thursday…”

“Thursday…” mumbled Draco, just a bit comforted by the undisputed affection of the crazy ginger bear.

“Thursday it is,” whispered Ron, kissed him one last time and disapparated from the spot, instantly making him aware of how exposed and alone he was all of the sudden. He sought cover of the sheets, still smelling heavenly of him and sunk into them deeply.

Thursday it was going to be, then.

And Thursday it was, still after all these years.


	8. Milestones

Draco chanced one last look in the mirror before his lover's arrival. It was going to be one of those days today, he could tell, and he had to look perfect for the occasion. They didn’t come often, those kinds of milestones in their relationship, but when they did, something always inevitably changed.

The first to go was his idea that this... thing between them was going to be temporary. Just an arrangement, until he got over this crazy impossible crush and found himself someone right and acceptable and  _better_. Except... there was no one better. They never came. Not for Draco Malfoy anyway.

With every carefully scheduled and much anticipated meeting his resolve to end this, and end it soon, melted away a little; every hungry raw sex-crazed encounter that almost inevitably ended in unexpected intimacy left him yearning for more – and still the blatant truth that he couldn’t let Weasley go was long in coming. Until one day, after about half a year’s worth of secret Thursday meetings, set in a long depressive week of throwing carefully concealed glances behind his disappearing image in the Ministry hallways, and the blasted, desperately needed Thursday just  _wouldn’t_  come - a sobering realization hit him full in the chest and for a moment there he could barely breathe. Not only was this unsanitary obsession with Weasley not coming anywhere near its end –  if anything, it had gotten worse.  And the recognition left him devastated.

He felt every bit as if he was cursed – he just  _couldn’t get_  enough of Ron Weasley. He continuously woke up to the fading dreams of brilliant blue eyes and soft blissful smile, his eyes greedily sought out any hint of red mane throughout the day, he bloody well stole clothes from him! - just hid a piece here, an item there and pretended he couldn’t find them until the redhead was gone, mumbling something about house fairies – only to be able to wear something of his to bed, wrap himself in the smell of him and make it through another lonely night...

Anyone else would have called it “in love”, but Draco, of course, wasn’t just anyone. He was the heir of the noble house of Malfoy and love was... well, it was for plebeians, really. So instead, he told himself that if he happened to be a bit... taken with Weasley for the moment it was just because Malfoys were great admirers of all things beautiful - and a 19-year-old Ron Weasley was undoubtedly a thing of beauty. A beauty that resonated uniquely inside one Draco Malfoy.

Though in every way a man - tall, gorgeous, with an overwhelming presence – there was still a hint of childish innocence residing at the bottom of those brilliant blue eyes that provoked Draco and drove him a tad crazy, making him want to reach inside that man and touch it... It was as if Ron held on to something the war and adulthood couldn’t take away, and that innocence was a source of constant fascination for the blond.

He looked for it inside those eyes time and time again, he almost couldn’t believe it was there - the child-like enthusiasm and joy, erupting at the most unlikely of moments, caused by absurdly simple things... Such as a new Chuddley Cannons T-shirt Draco took the trouble to purchase after he had so ruthlessly destroyed the old one. It cost the blond nothing, just a few well-placed Floo-calls to the right people - and yet it lit stars in Ron’s eyes that Draco couldn’t stop staring at.  Oh, the redhead’s fascination  _might have been_  a tiny bit due to the fact that Draco made sure it came with personal dedication “to the biggest fan” and with all the players’ signatures that made Ron gawp in a way that would allow Hogwarts Express an easy passage through his mouth – and then hug him fiercely and spin him around the room in a most undignified manner. No one  _ever_  spun Draco Malfoy around, not even when he was little and it had left him heady and dizzy with laughter and feeling inexplicably happy.

And Ron wouldn’t be Ron if he didn’t finish his celebratory round by suddenly crashing them down on top of their bed-covers, his head still spinning and laughter still caught in his throat. But it died soon, under a single long hooded look from the bottom of those innocent blue eyes that set on the insatiable slow fire somewhere deep inside his veins and made him launch himself at the soft tempting lips hungrily. But Ron pushed him back, slowly, but unrelenting, then slid off the bed in a manner that would make any snake proud and began taking his clothes off slowly, one by one, until nothing was left but the precious piece of clothing he was so ridiculously proud of. And Draco had to admit it looked mouth-watering on him.

Clinging on to every contour of the muscled chest, accentuating broad shoulders and narrow hips, with just a hint of the taut nipples and their tiny decoration... a show of putting the soft-glowing skin and strong flexing muscle on shameless display had left the blond with a dry mouth and a heart beating like a hammer in his chest. He didn’t even realize how incredibly turned on he was until Ron pushed himself back on their bed and stretched his overwhelming body over him – and a jolt of pleasure hit Draco so unexpectedly, he could not hold back a moan.

“Thank you,” the soft breath caressed the shell of his ear and the moments afterwards were just a blur of hot skin, smart fingers and wet sloppy mouth, whispering obscenities, driving him over the edge, until Draco was nothing but a aching mess, stuttering out broken needy pleas for his cock, begging to be fucked within an inch of his sanity - and Ron delivered. Oh, yeah...  his redheaded god delivered most divinely. Those moments of naked absolute bliss, free of anything but a wonderful press of the massive cock sinking inside him, assaulting him, massaging all the sensitive spots into an over-drive and sending flashing bolts of pleasure up his spine into his spinning head, taking him places he never wanted to come back from –  _those moments_ , Draco told himself, were definitely  _worth_ putting up with childish doting over a mere T-shirt. He was convinced of it. In fact he might have been guilty of planning yet another token of his good will that would light those sparks in the wild blue eyes that he could no longer imagine his life without.

And Draco’s brain picked out a most miserable day of the year to confront him with the shocking truth: he couldn’t bring himself to let Ron Weasley go. Worse even: it didn’t look as if he was willing to do so any time in the foreseeable future. It had left him numb for long moments. And in the end, when he sat there, dumbfounded, frozen and utterly lost, a laughter started somewhere inside his chest, rumbling through his body and finally breaking free until he was shaking with the full despair of it... and in the end it had set him free.

So – Weasley it was. The terribly-mannered, poor, obnoxious, annoying  _very manly_  Weasel that drove everyone, even his friends, positively crazy with his thickness and antics.  _And a brilliant strategist_ , his treacherous mind whispered.  _Sparkling with life, deliciously warm and full of laughter. A bloody perfection in bed. Loving_...  _Loving_.

His mind stuttered at the thought. No, he couldn’t go there, he would never be allowed to go there... But he supposed ... it could have been worse, couldn’t it? It could have been Potter. The very thought made him shiver. Or Longbottom. Now  _that_  thought just made him want to go up the Astronomy Tower and launch himself off at considerable speed. Repeatedly.

At least Weasley was a mouth-watering brain-stopping perfection of a man. Splendid. Gorgeous. Those endless legs. An abundance of long lean muscles. The fierce eyes. Silken shiny hair. Soft mouth with that oh... talented tongue. Insatiable. All that hard hot flesh moving under his hands... Oh, yeah... gorgeous. He had an excuse, then. And a very unfortunate hard-on in the middle of the bloody Ministry. Yeah, that kind of happened a lot when he allowed himself to dwell upon the thoughts of his lover. Unfortunately, what he also had, was a self-imposed rule of “no wanking” for at least two days before their scheduled appointment.

He never really got around considering why would he do such a cruel thing to himself, but it just happened and he knew he revelled in the sensation of heightened expectation and that raw need that just _oozed_ out of him by the time Weasley apparated into their lovers' nest. Perhaps he did it to show himself this was really only about sex, perhaps he hoped if he wanted the physical part of it so badly, he wouldn’t give himself time to ponder over other reasons why he found it so impossible to let Ron Weasley slip out of his life. But somewhere deep down inside him, where his mind was not allowed access and where his heart reigned, it felt as if this denial of his need was the only right way to demonstrate his reverence of their bond. As if it was a ritual of ancient magic, when one had to sacrifice something precious to win the grace of deity, Draco Malfoy put a harness on his raging libido, if merely for a couple of days, only to have himself completely taken apart by his redheaded god later. And it was  _so_  worth it... Every. Bloody. Time.

Mostly, he wouldn’t even give the redhead time to speak when he heard the soft sound of the apparation, he just pounced on him like a desperate cursed man, not caring how obsessed and lust-crazy that made him seem. Nothing mattered for the moment, as long as he could have himself fucked into a quivering mess of sweaty broken down limbs, hanging like a drowning man onto the beast riding him, begging with crude obscenities and soft unforgivable words to be taken and to be taken apart. And the redhead never questioned him. That was another thing Draco loved about him. He was simple. He came there, bursting to fuck Draco raw and that was exactly what he did.

But it was what came after that left Draco aching and made him crave for more. It was that thing he could never really put his finger on, but when he was lying in Ron’s arms – it was always Ron afterwards, never Weasley, in his mind befuddled by the afterglow – when he was safely tucked inside that over-whelming warm embrace that smelled so unmistakably of him, Draco felt like staying. And keeping him for good; wrapped around his body like a cosy plush blanket of his childhood, making him feel safe and protected, loved and invincible. And that scared him. That dependency... that feeling that Ron felt like home, like his final destination. This could never be.

So he provoked him.


	9. Mapping the boundaries

The angry confused beast inside of him, that couldn’t believe the sick joke his destiny had played on him by delivering him at the mercy of his old adversary, drove him to provoke him, to map out the boundaries of Ron Weasley’s devotion until he found them – and wouldn’t dare move into that direction ever again to chance crossing them.  


Like the time when he insulted his mother. Publicly, even. He didn’t think much of it, not at first, he didn’t think that after all these years Weasley still had a soft spot right _there_  where it was when he was 11. But perhaps that was the mystery behind that untouchable innocence hiding at the bottom of those deep blue eyes. Ron still cared for things that were precious to him as a child and his sense of right or wrong in the world was deeply rooted in the simple rules that outlined the map of his world. Loyalty. Family. Love. And Draco had stumbled over all of those when he let a derogatory remark of his mother slip. And fell spectacularly.  


By a silent mutual agreement they never let their relationship out in the open – and that resulted in a fair amount of bickering when they found themselves surrounded by their colleagues at work. Luckily, it didn’t happen very often, at least not in the beginning, Healers- and Aurors-in-training weren’t supposed to mingle as they were mostly paired off with their more experienced peers. But occasionally they would bump into each other, usually in the Ministry diner, and Draco’s breath hitched to the skies whenever he found himself staring at the beloved freckled face with provoking flames dancing inside the sea-blue eyes and a slow sexy smile ready to stretch those kissable lips. And surrounded by people who had no idea what he  _really_  wanted to do to Weasley, his most primal urge was to hurt him.  


Ron’s casual “Hey, ferret...”, was usually met by the likes of an acid “Dear God, if it isn’t my favourite loser... Hurry on along, I saw Mummy Potter head the other way, we don’t want this pretty little pumpkin-head getting all lost and confused in the big bad Ministry...” Which usually sparked salves of laughter among Draco’s peers and made Ron turn a lovely shade of magenta.  


But he was smart enough not to try and reciprocate in words as he was fully aware he was no match for Draco’s eloquence, so he usually just shrugged and said something akin of: “My bad, I didn’t know City zoo was catering today, they must be, if the ferrets are getting fed.” And promptly turned around and howled after his best mate: “Hey, Potter, mate, you still owe me a proper lunch for... oh, just think of something, spoil me rotten!” And he provokingly hugged Harry around the shoulders,  _knowing_  what it would do to Draco’s insides and trod away with a happily smiling Potter in tow. It took all the Malfoyness out of Draco to be able to remain his composed cool self whenever there was an _idiot_ – and there would always be at least one – that wondered out aloud: “Whoa... Are those two... They’re just friends, right?”  


To which Draco would bark in an irritated voice: “Of course not, they shag like rabbits. Can’t you see that Potter is barely able to walk?!” And  _because_  he was Draco Malfoy, the old adversary of Saviour and His Lovely Bunch, and because he always said it with such an amount of sarcasm, no one had taken him seriously. Of course anyone with half a sight in his left eye left could see that the four-eyed bastard wanted more, he practically drooled over his best mate – while Ron was being his usual oblivious idiotic self. But try as he might, Draco couldn’t find anything at fault in Ron’s behaviour towards his best mate – he never seemed to overstep the boundaries of a very close friendship. Another advantage of hitting it off with a Gryffindor, the lot tended to keep their word.  


But inevitably those rare encounters left Draco fuming with jealousy and though he would never humiliate himself enough to ask Ron if he kept his fingers off Potter – he couldn’t afford to come across so desperate and insecure – he continued to probe at their relationship every chance he got, usually in front of others, so if there was ever something inappropriate there, he would make sure they couldn’t hide it from him.  


They never spoke of Potter when they were alone. But if a week like that was behind him, Draco couldn’t wait until he got the redhead underneath him. They had long ago established that they liked it the other way around - with his height and a ton of muscles Ron was a natural alpha and truth be told Draco couldn’t get enough of feeling his cock inside him, as deep and as aggressive as it came. Except at those times. He had no other language but sex, so he used it to convey how very much in need he was for Ron to acknowledge to whom he belonged.  


So he pounced on him like a hungry beast and then he fucked him. Hard, unrelenting, with gritted teeth and aching needy heart, until he saw him unravel and give into him completely, mouthing Draco’s name breathlessly time and time again as waves of pleasure rippled over him – and then the blond was whole again. He would rest uncommonly long wrapped in his arms on those days. And the redhead never objected. Not to him topping, not to seeking confirmation and shelter. They both knew what this was all about. But it never made it any easier when another such encounter took place.  


Just the glimpse of the bloody scar-headed prodigy on horizon when he stared at his secret lover was enough to have Draco's blood boiling. So it was just a matter of time, really, when he stepped over the invisible boundary and got brutal. After another chanced encounter at the diner, when Ron once again retreated in the direction of his best mate, Draco lost it a little and hissed in cold anger:  


“That’s right, carrot head, stay away from food, or you’ll end up as fat as your mother!”  


It was a simple, childish insult, nothing an 11-year-old couldn’t find a retort to – but for some reason it had stopped Ron dead in his track. He turned around slowly, gave Draco on long measured look, just one, but enough to have him suppress a shiver, and said quietly: “You will apologize.”  


“When the hell freezes over! Or when your mother loses weight – whichever comes first!” Draco howled after him much to the jolly of his company – but it hit the redhead in the back, because Ron had already turned around without another word and headed towards Harry. And Draco’s blood effectively froze when he saw him casually slip his fingers around the narrow hand of the raven-haired youth and lean in closely, too closely, to whisper something in his ear. And when Potter’s hand closed around the big palm of his best-mate and he tugged him along, clearly set to take him somewhere private, Draco literally saw black. And as if it wasn’t enough, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, there was this  _one_  fool around, who chose  _that_  moment to whistle and knock into Draco shoulder in camaraderie: “You know what, Malfoy, I think you might be right. I think they  _are_ shagging.”  


Later on he had to explain to the Chief of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, that it was a reflex really, a remnant of the war, that made him react to an aggressive physical contact by the hapless colleague, that made Draco fire such a powerful hex at him. The poor fellow had landed in St. Mungo for a better part of the week – but Draco couldn’t be arsed enough to care. He had a more pressing problem on his hands. Because when Thursday finally came, Ron didn’t.  


And that had made Draco livid. At first. How dare he?! He had been saving himself for those fucking over-priced moments, he had been agitated for days before their scheduled appointment and when once, only once, Ron had to cancel due to a higher power (namely, he was stuck with Potter somewhere on the continent during some blasted mission), every single unfortunate Draco encountered in the hell of a week that followed was in danger of having his head bitten off. If he was grumpy for a day or two before their regular meetings, he was next to homicidal that one time. And when the next Thursday came, Draco jumped him like a vulture. He had no words for how he felt, how very fragile and needy and  _hungry_  for him he had become in that impossible week of cancelled hopes. He had never laid himself so bare and open for anyone before and Ron understood. He hadn’t said a word when the blond asked him through gritted teeth to have him tied up, he just followed his orders and gave it to him, fucked him so hard he finally blacked out stuttering his worshipped name and held him afterwards, just held him until his sobs were no more. They never spoke of it.  


And now he didn’t come. No warning, nothing. And Draco had no idea what to do, how to fix this. As angry as he was at first, as the days dragged by, it was soon replaced by anxiousness, followed by deep hollow hurt settling somewhere inside his chest, making him short of breath… and then despair hit with full force. Dark, suffocating, final. With no end in sight. What if he never showed up again? What if their fragile agreement crumbled under his thoughtless harsh words, inspired by jealousy? He had to know he was jealous, he had to! What he had with Potter… Draco could never have.  


He knew Ron was engaged to Granger now. And that now there was sex a-plenty. Draco paid a lot of attention to the Ministry rumours, something that was wired into him by his politically-savy father – so he knew. They never spoke of this either, as if they were resigned to the fate that this part of their lives was inevitably charted for them – but somehow that didn’t make him nearly as jealous as any tender gesture of friendship towards Potter did. Because he knew how much he wanted that for himself. To be able to put his arm around him and pull him into an embrace if he felt like it; to slip his hand into one of those big palms and just parade him around with his head held up high. He could never have that. And Potter could.  


He had to know how crazy it was making him, how the sight of them together propelled him into saying all those hurtful words. He couldn’t honestly think he had something against his mother, could he!? He had seen the woman perhaps ten times in his life and, to be quite honest, couldn’t help to admire her for blasting his criminally insane aunt to smithereens in the Final Battle.  


But somehow his public disdain of Ron’s mother hit a nerve with the redhead and in the week that followed Draco found out just how far he was willing to go to make this fragile… thing they had work again. He had lost precious three days to raging and sulking about, but by Sunday evening – and still no note from Weasley - something  alike panic settled in his chest. He had to fix this, he had to, he couldn’t afford to think Weasley was never coming again, that magnificent warm body would remain outside his reach, that he would never look into those exquisite blue eyes again and see the skies…  


He was not sorted into Slytherin for nothing, he could still fix this, he told himself, and he spend the long night leading to a Monday plotting and scheming how to win Weasley back - it wasn't as if he could sleep after all.   


First he had sent flowers. A bouquet of glowing velvety red roses appeared on the doorstep of the Burrow, too big to fit through the wobbly door without the danger of dislodging it. It had a note attached to it, addressed to “To Madame M. Weasley, most fabulous witch in England, from a great admirer”. It had positively sent Molly into a fit of girlish giggles and made Arthur run around the house grumpy for the rest of the day, trying to come up with all the names of Molly’s potential secret admirers and past crushes, so he could go and “have a word with the scoundrel for sending a married woman such an inappropriate present”. Her children teased her mercilessly – all of them, save one child. Ron never said a word – he was there when the bouquet arrived, precisely as he was meant to be – and had merely raised an eyebrow in the face of his mother’s red cheeks and flattered demeanour. Then he simply kissed her cheek and said quietly: “Totally deserved, mom.”  


Then on Tuesday the fruit basket arrived. Two gigantic owls brought it in, since it was decidedly too big for one animal to carry. An unprecedented and unimaginable array of fruits from all parts of the world were mixed with finest Belgian chocolates, every single bonbon wrapped in a prestigious looking silken pouch, which also included a small folded parchment with a recipe. At the bottom of the basket there was a box with seeds for nearly all the fruits presented, at least for those one could hope to grow in the capricious English weather, along with a thick book on taking care of exotic plants. The note this time simply said: “To Madame M. Weasley, the perfect mother, the great inspiration. From someone who appreciates, sincerely”  
  
Molly was speechless. She collapsed into her favourite rocking chair, staring numbly at the precious gift and Arthur came to stand behind her to hold on to her shoulders and said quietly: “Well, this is some present, Molly. And there is no one out there more deserving of it than you, dear. Though I want to throw the blasted thing out of the window, because I just can’t compete – but I don’t think it would fit.”  


“Oh, Artie… you don’t have to compete, there’s no one but you, there never was. Who on Earth would send such a thing? And to me of all people?!”  


“I honestly don’t know, Molls. But I suppose it doesn’t matter, this was clearly sent by someone that thinks very highly of you and knows you uncommonly well.”  


And Ron left the Burrow without a word, with nothing but a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth, never mentioning a conversation he had with a certain blond weeks ago, discussing the benefits of having a particularly tasty home-made jam ( _"You never have anything edible in this place, so I brought my own!”_ ) – at that point spread all over the body of the said blond – always at hand, courtesy of the world’s most competent cook/gardener/mother.  


And on Wednesday, there was a letter. It was from the Daily Prophet, begging Mrs. Weasley to consider a weekly written contribution to the “Housewitch section” of their publication, because it has come to their attention that they just could be missing out on the wisdom and knowledge of the most accomplished housewife and mother in England. She would only be required a recipe, a house-keeping advice or a good-mothering tip every week, anything from 10 lines to a page, and the sum they offered was absolutely ridiculous. Molly was flabbergasted. She immediately fire-called the editor-in-chief whose signature was underneath the invitation, politely requesting more information and even more carefully inquiring about his mental health – but had come back with nothing but a firm assurance that it would indeed be the publication’s greatest pleasure to share her experience with its readers and perhaps – if she could chip in with a little something of her vast knowledge for the next day’s edition as they were short an article…?  


Molly has never earned a knut in her life that she’d be able to call her own and now she was to have her own money to dispose of, to use for the little extras that were always missing, perhaps to indulge a little. She would be right mad not to take them up on their offer, everyone had said so – and once her name was clearly printed with fat black letters in the Thursday’s edition of the Prophet, she couldn’t stop staring at it. Arthur had it framed the same day and Ron left home quietly once more. No one noticed a small ad for one of the numerous Malfoy charities at the bottom of the page. This time he sought out Malfoy on purpose.  


The blond’s facial expression was impassive when he looked Ron in the eyes.  


“Weasley…” he drawled slowly. “I saw your mother’s recipe in today’s Prophet. Apparently their idea of propaganda is to persuade the Ministry to test it on us - and as much as it pains me to admit this, I believe this must be the first edible item on this diner's menu in the history of this establishment. Surprisingly delicious, if I say so myself. Only someone as daft as you would bother to eat at this dump when you have something clearly superior at home!”  


Ron never said a word. He just grabbed him by the hand and pulled him from the midst of his hangers-on. Ignoring their loud protests and the straight out “ _Watch out, Weasley, you’re not above getting your arse kicked out, fucking pretentious war hero!_ ” threats, he pushed him into the first empty bathroom on their way, locked it solid and pressed him against the wall. He found him achingly hard already. He stared down those grey eyes, once more brilliant with unspoken feelings, and said quietly:  


“Apology accepted, Malfoy.”  


Draco’s  _“I have no idea what you’re on about”_  died in a breathless moan when Ron Weasley sunk down on his knees in front of him and his cheek nudged long and slow against the painful bulge in his pants.  


“God, I missed this… the smell of your cock… pressing against the edge of my mouth… just a lick away… You’re driving me crazy, beautiful… care about a starter for tonight, Malfoy?”  The blue eyes stared at him provokingly, invitingly while the decadent mouth continued to play along the contours of his cock and Draco’s treacherous mouth opened and blurted out the truth his body vibrated with:  


“Sweet Merlin, Ron… don’t leave me without… not ever again… I can’t take it…”  


And the redhead just smiled innocently, without ever taking his eyes of his face and whispered:  


“Whatever you say, Master Malfoy… Ron Weasley at your service, Sir…”  


And then he proceeded to suck Draco’s brains out through his cock – it only took about two minutes - and eagerly took two weeks worth of come down his throat, licked every last drop of it and shared the taste with Draco, when he came up for a searing kiss.  


“Until tonight, baby…” he said softly and left him on the floor of the Ministry bathroom boneless, breathless and almost lucid with release. Draco could no longer hope to work that day. He somehow managed to stumble into the fireplace in the Ministry lobby, crashed into his apartment by more luck than wisdom and continued to stare at the fireplace for the rest of the day, certain that his life was forfeit if Ron Weasley wasn’t coming.  


He took the first shuddering breath that day when fireplace finally whooshed to life. Ron came. And Draco had his life back. And not only did the redhead come - sometime during their third or fourth love-making session he managed to inform his destroyed and exhilarated lover, he took Friday off as well and – as luck would have it, Harry was a guest of honour at the international DADA symposium in France – if by any chance Draco was interested, they could have a whole weekend to themselves… It seemed as if Ron Weasley really knew how to make amends. Draco had never spent a more memorable weekend in his life. It was the closest thing to the honeymoon they were ever going to get, a precious few days when they didn’t need to think about immediate goodbyes and couldn’t be arsed to care if anyone missed them. Draco had come up with a believable excuse for his parents and Ron’s friends and family were convinced he’d gone along with Harry – so it was just themselves.  


And it could have been horrible and it could have shown the very depths of their incompatibility outside of their Thursday meetings and there were a million ways in which it could have gone wrong…but it didn’t. It was perfect, instead. They had made love, not in a hurry, like they had to over the too short a time of their secret rendez-vous, but with care and daring and a wisp of adventure, treading the waters of their interests and kinks like they could never hope to before. And they talked. Of everything and nothing and then more of the sweet little nothings. Anything that made them laugh and argue and dispute and have stupid pillow fights that only ever ended one way. Never of themselves, of their future... but of their childhoods instead, of their families, of their dreams, of their wounds...  


Draco was awed and more than a little pained to find out how much Ron hated to always be submerged into the tide of people he saw as better than him. His brothers. Harry.  _Draco_. He did everything in his power to persuade him, with less words than actions, how precious he found him. As far as Draco Malfoy went, _Merlin_ himself had nothing on Ron, he was his perfection and at the end of their time together the redhead discovered, much to his own surprise, that, perhaps, he wasn’t all that bad. Not if Draco Malfoy thought so, the man had impeccable taste after all…  


And Ron had found out, much to his confusion and rage, that Draco still suffered from nightmares about the war. He had found out the worst possible way – by witnessing one. And when he held the shivering blond, only half awake and still yelping in fear and pain of the never forgotten ordeals that came to haunt him, Ron sat there, rocking him softly back and forth, until he slipped back into a dreamless slumber… and it had left the Gryffindor with a drained face and clenched fists and a heart full of pity. No one bothered to offer the family of former Death Eaters any counselling they would certainly be entitled to had they found themselves on the winning side.  


When questioned gently, Draco had at first put up all of his defences and barked at him not to waste time with something he could not fix, but over a cup of honey-laced mint and valerian tea, his resolve melted and he admitted quietly, that Mother took a sleeping potion every single night since the war and Father usually just drunk himself to sleep in front of a fireplace on the worst of the nights. And though Ron could not fix it for him, could not fix him, he could at least hold him through it. And Draco didn't have another episode for the entire time they stayed together.  


And Ron cooked for him, cooked the most wonderful home-made meals he had learnt at his mother’s knee and under his guidance, Draco Malfoy baked the first egg in his entire life – and was ridiculously proud of himself for not setting the kitchen on fire. And the blond had repaid Ron by a long luxurious massage with the world’s most wonderfully scented oil that absolutely spoiled all of his pressure points rotten and left him as relaxed and boneless as a rag. Luckily, Draco knew how to undo  _that_  particular effect…  


And all this time they were carefully avoiding anything that threatened to expose how close to love they had come. Ron knew, but kept it to himself not to ruin the blond, ruin it all, and Draco… Draco willed himself not to think about it. It was just a weekend with his own god of sex, that’s what it was. A weekend of total indulgence to all the carnal aspects of their relationship… with some benefits. He didn’t want to think about it, he couldn’t afford to.  


So when on Sunday afternoon the sunlight began to fade, Draco refused to acknowledge that this could be it, that this could be as perfect as if it is ever going to get between them. And that it was about to end. This could _not_ have been it. There had to be a new beginning somewhere.

So after a shag, most decidedly the last one in their little Universe of stolen time together as the darkness already crept through the windows, Draco Malfoy pressed his head full of dishevelled blond hair tightly against the warm chest, resonating with a beating drum of Ron’s heart and spoke quietly:  


“I have a present for you.”  


He could feel his surprise without looking up, he could picture the raised eyebrow and a small frown around his soft mouth and he was not startled when one long finger slipped under his chin and lifted his face up to meet those mesmerising eyes. Ron said nothing, he simply waited for Draco to show him. So Draco stretched over him to reach the elegant night dresser positioned near their bed and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a thin golden necklace, a string of finest and most delicate golden links wrapped around each other – and around a tiny, complicated looking key.  


“For you,” he said simply. “From this apartment. It’s yours now. I'm nothing but your guest now. For as long as you'll have me.”  


He saw the blue eyes grow wide with surprise and there was a clearly written “ _You can’t…_ ” and “ _You don’t have to…_ ” somewhere inside, so he merely pressed his finger on top of the beautiful soft mouth to shut down any unnecessary words and said quietly: “I can. I did. I had to. It’s done. All yours now. Say thank you, Weasley. Nothing more.”  


And Ron looked at him, really looked deep into the grey expanse of Draco Malfoy’s eyes and read it all; his need to feel welcome, wanted and appreciated in Ron's life, by Ron's choice and not merely his own, and his resolve to not have this fragile bond end. Not without hope.  


So instead of a million objections that came to mind, he simply said: “Thank you.”  


And another milestone did not come for four years, when there was a small announcement in the Daily Prophet that Ronald Billius Weasley was to wed Hermione Jean Granger the following Sunday.


	10. Of hearts and bonds

Draco had found out the news in the morning, enjoying his morning coffee in the company of his parents. And for the moment the world went still. The words blurred in front of his eyes and he wasn’t able to read it once more to see that it was true, then, that the moment he knew was coming but never wanted to think about since they started this crazy dance of desire and obsession he lived for, had finally arrived, with no announcement to soften the blow.  Ron never said a thing...

And neither did Draco. He disapparated from the sun-lit parlour without another word to his rather alarmed parents and headed directly to the Ministry. It didn’t take him a lot to locate the redhead. He was surrounded by the crowd of cheerful colleagues, all of them jumping over one another to congratulate him – but Draco didn’t let that stop him. Without a thought he launched into the crowd and pushed his way through to reach Weasley. And when he finally found himself panting in front of the redhead, he took one pained look into those mesmerising blue eyes, filled to the brim with guilt and regret - and he couldn’t stop himself, he wouldn’t be able to if Voldemort himself held a wand at his temple.

“You bastard!!” he howled, but his voice broke half way and it had come out almost as a sob. He pounced on him with nothing but blind hatred on his mind; knocked him onto the ground solid to show him how it felt to be helpless; delivered one blow after another to the beautiful startled face to make him share his pain because he had nothing else to share; to damage him, to hurt him, hurt him, hurt him; to ruin him, like he felt ruined himself.

And when he was violently dislodged from Ron, it was not the redhead’s doing. Ron never hit back, he didn’t even lift a hand to defend himself. But Potter did. He had his wand pointed directly at Draco, two red blotches on his face testifying of his glorious anger while the green eyes shone like flames. Draco should have been scared... this was the Saviour, the man who destroyed the Dark Lord himself and his magic was magnificent. And he would have been scared... any other time but now. Right now, he was too lost in hurt and wrath for fear. If Potter killed him now, he would have gone down with nothing but: “ _About time, you blind twat... about bloody time...  thank you_.”

He knew he was getting hurt before the hex hit. But the pain never came. A very pale Ron Weasley collapsed at his feet instead and an instant later a flabbergasted Harry Potter was on his knees rocking his best mate’s body in his arms.

“Bloody hell, shit, what the fuck...!? Ron, I’m sorry, Ron, mate, are you alright?! I never meant to hurt you, god... I never did, you must believe me! I was just trying to stop the stupid snake trying to kill you and you just had to throw yourself in between – why the hell did you go and do that for?!”

“Didn’t mean to...” Ron was breathing heavily and it was obvious he was in considerable pain. “It was a bloody accident... wasn’t it... Go ahead, hex the bastard... Shit, this hurts.... You shouldn’t borrow hexes from your girlfriend, Potter... my sister knows what she’s doing... and you clearly don’t!”

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” came the booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Move away, go on, shoo... out of the way, I said! This is not a fish market! Don’t you people have anything better to do!? What _is_   this commotion? Potter... _Malfoy_... I should have known... and Weasley... bloody hell, are you hurt, Weasley?! Can you talk? Mother of god, Molly is going to hang my head on the wall if you end up at St. Mungo’s yet again. Look at you! Who the hell did this!?”

“Which part… do you have in mind?” Ron asked, eyes closed and breathing heavily, his face swelling rapidly. “Caved my face in... or knocked the wind out of me? No one... it was an accident. But you might want to fetch me some help anyway.... I can’t seem to breathe properly... ”

“God, Ron, I’m sorry!” blurted Harry Potter and the green eyes behind his glasses were glassy with held back tears of guilt and regret - and fear. “I’m sorry, I’ll get help right away, just... breathe, mate, please, breathe... I’ll be right back.”

And because one could not apparate on the Ministry premises, Harry Potter shot like an arrow down the corridor and he was gone before anyone could see the tears rolling down his pale face.

“Holy Merlin and Christ, has Potter done it, then?”  Clearly flabbergasted Chief Kingsley looked at Draco sharply to get answers, but the blond couldn’t utter a word if his life depended on it.

In spite of deep bruises beginning to swell in all colours of the rainbow, Ron’s face was ashen white and Draco finally realized that Potter’s hex was anything but innocent. Any other time he would have pondered upon the fact that it was meant for him - but right now, nothing mattered. He was strangely numb inside as he stared at the crumbled body at his feet as if his brain was unable to process the fact, that Ron, _his Ron_ , was hurt, genuinely hurt and that he could lose him...

Lose him. He could _lose_ him! He _was_ losing him!!! And he was just standing there, _doing nothing!_

“Move,” he said to Kingsley, his voice harsh as if from lack of use. When Chief Kingsley looked at him in confusion and indignation crept in this voice _“Now, listen, Malfoy...”_ , Draco couldn’t have given three fucks about his superior position and overpowering presence.

“Move!!! _Move, move, move, fucking move_ or do I have to shove you away!? I’m a fucking Healer, am I not, as much as you try to ignore it, ignore me and give me the crappiest assignments in Ministry’s history, I am the one who’s capable here and you’re going to bloody move or I’m going to have to make you!”

Much to his surprise, Chief Kingsley moved away without another comment and Draco kneeled next to Ron. As soon as he all but tore his clothes apart, he put a hand on top of his heart and it nearly made him sick to hear it beat faintly and completely out of rhythm.

“Cold,” whispered Ron. “Your hand is cold. It hurts,” he tried to tell him, but a bubble of blood burst out of his mouth and Draco could barely control the sudden surge of panic that swept through him.

“What did he use on you, do you know?” he asked him instead, to keep cool, to say something, to keep talking, to hold on to illusion that he could help him, to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“Don’t know...” the redhead managed. “Could be constricting hex... pressure on the lungs... Aurors use it to bind prisoners... stop them from running...never meant to be used this long... think it went awry... too strong.”

“Alright... keep still then...” He barely stopped himself from blabbing a thousand and one gentle endearment that swam through his mind _“breathe, baby, please, breathe... I’ll fucking die without you, Ron... love... just breathe, please... deargodpleaselethimbreathe...”_ With Chief Kingsley barely a few steps away, perusing his work most carefully, he couldn’t afford to say any of these words, so he focused instead and performed a complicated diagnostic spell over the redhead’s limp body. Almost instantly an image of three burning rings wound up tightly around Ron’s chest appeared in the air and he heard Kingsley’s sharp intake of breath.

“Merlin... Can you break them?” he heard the older man ask quietly and the tension in his voice was impossible to miss.

“Death Eater spawn here,” Draco said quietly, without even bothering to sound bitter. “I’ve seen those before. Nothing I can’t deal with. Just.... shut up and let me work.”

And without another word Chief Kingsley did exactly what he was told and Draco knew it was now or never. If he got this wrong, his career was as good as over, but right now he couldn’t care rat’s arse if he never worked again. _Ron would die._ Ron, who threw himself in a way of a hex meant for him without a second thought. His Ron. And he’d never get a chance to apologize. Or to thank him. He’d never get a chance to tell him how angry and desperately sad his announced wedding had made him. And to tell him why. He needed Ron to know. He needed him to live to tell him.

So Draco focused. He knew he needed to make his mind completely blank and to forget it was Ron he was trying to save or his hand would shake and there would be no way back. So when he uttered the counter-spell there was nothing in his mind but a burning ring. He heard a loud crack and saw Ron take a big gulp of air. Some colour returned to his battered cheeks immediately and when Draco repeated the diagnostic spell, there were only two more rings constricting the chest of his favourite ginger. Kingsley saw it, too, and the thoughtful look he sent in Draco’s direction was nothing short of impressed.

“Just two more... lie still... you’ll be right as rain soon...” he told him, just to hear his own voice say it, not to lose the focus, not to lose the man he had come to crave beyond words.

He focused once again so intensely, he never noticed the small drops of perspiration sliding down his temples. Another _“crack!”_ – and one could literally hear the air wheezing into Ron Weasley’s lungs.

Ron’s eyes never left his face and Draco couldn’t help himself. He looked deep into those s liquid pools of blue brilliance in the midst of his bruised face to find strength – and his hands began to shake when he lost himself in them completely. Only when a sharp “ _Malfoy_!” spoken in a deep urgent voice of Chief Kingsley woke him up from his reverie, he was able to focus once again.

Diagnostic spell showed one ring left, but it was thicker than the other two and it seemed to burn with a brighter flame.

“Just one more... one more...” he told himself as much as the redhead to keep a hold on his faltering composure.

“Malfoy...Draco…” Ron said quietly “I have full trust in you.”

It was all it took. Draco closed his eyes again, emptied his mind and exhaled: “ _Adflicto Affligo!”_

He opened his eyes to see Ron’s massive chest expand almost with a crack as he inhaled deeply and Draco quickly put a palm of his hand on the wonderfully hot naked skin on top of his heart: “Careful there, Weasley! We don’t want you to start hyperventilating. It won’t do you any good. Just one long measured intake of air – there you go – and now exhale slowly. That’s right... Go again... A big gulp in... and a long slow breath out...”

“Your skin is warm,” Ron said suddenly, still staring at him with a tired smile spreading over his colourful messed up face. “Before it was cold… and now it’s warm.” _God_ , how did he still manage to look so incredibly tempting with his face as battered as it was, was beyond Draco. It was all he could do not to kiss him stupid.

“Well, yeah... Weasley, your talent for pointing out the obvious never ceases to amaze me,” he retorted to sarcasm and even managed a smirk, but no genuine malice. “With your immense powers of observation restored, I reckon you can do on your own.”

It had earned him a blissful smile, revealing blood covered teeth, miraculously still all of them there, and resulting in Draco’s head taking a sudden swim as if he was drunk. He had to get away or he would either punch the beautiful bastard he could never have - or blurt out the truth he barely kept at bay from himself: how very much in love with him he was. Both equally undesirable, both equally impossible, both entirely unacceptable.

He got up abruptly, the muscles in his long legs quivering from the awkward kneeling, and he turned to get away from the young man on the ground as fast as he could because he was not sure how much more of smiling wounded Ron Weasley he could take. With exhilaration still running high through his veins he desperately wanted to snog him into whispering his name like he sometimes did; he wanted to make sure he was alright in every way and then just collapse into his arms and sleep. He was destroyed. The anger, the brawl, the fucking-Potter-he-needed-to-murder incident and the complex spell-work – it had all taken its toll on him and now he didn’t want anything else but to cuddle next to his favourite ginger and find comfort in his embrace. And it was barely 10 in the bloody morning - so quite impossible. Just another thing he could not have today…

And on top of it, it seemed as if Chief Kingsley was not done with him yet. The deep booming voice stopped Draco dead in his tracks.

“Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy. First, let me compliment you on your exemplary work here – it seems we have underestimated your potential and your evident skill and I assure you, your superior will be notified of this. And secondly: how much of this misery is actually your work!? The hex – that wasn’t you, was it? But his face…”

“We had a… disagreement,” came an unexpected interference and Ron stared at Chief Kingsley from the floor with his blue eyes alert. “I might have… provoked Malfoy a bit,” he lied shamelessly. “I suppose you could say I had it coming,” he added for a good measure and never took his eyes of Kingsley. “You can’t fire him for that. You’d have to fire me as well.”

“I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I fully intend to _thoroughly_ investigate what happened here today and how does Mr. Potter hexing you – _you_ , of all people! – compute into this doubtlessly very intriguing story. But for now let it be said that we’d be right fools to miss out on the priceless skills Mr. Malfoy here possesses – in short, we’d be stupid to fire him. At least not directly. But you two will need to find a way to work with each other, because this type of behaviour is unbefitting for two young men of 24!” he barked at them and looked from one to another sternly:

“So, just to make a point, I’m putting you both on a 2 month parole – in lack of a better word – effective immediately, and let me state right away, gentlemen: I expect better of you, of _both_ of you. I will give it some consideration over the weekend, how to best enact your disciplinary punishment and you will both report to my office on Monday morning, 9 AM sharp, to discuss the conditions of your continued employment with the Ministry. Is that clear!?”

“Perfectly,” said Ron and Draco just nodded curtly. He knew he got away with it with nothing but a tap on the wrist – if it was any other man than Shacklebolt Kingsley, who was notoriously fair and just, he would already be emptying his drawers. Hardly anyone would have passed up an opportunity to have Draco Malfoy fired.

“Right… so that’s settled,” said Kingsley with uncommon degree of satisfaction in his voice and took a good hard look at the blond.

“Go home, Draco,” he said unexpectedly softly. “And get some rest. You look like shit,” he added tactlessly, and then: “And thank you. This was one hell of an effort right there, son. I’ll notify your superior about your mandatory day off, don’t you worry. Now get the heck out of here before Potter returns and I’ll have to employ the Dementors to hold him away from you.”

“Speak of the devil,” murmured Draco and shot a hateful look towards the lithe figure who appeared at the end of corridor, sprinting full force and with a small army of healers in tow.

“Indeed,” murmured Chief Kingsley and a silent growl much alike “ _I’m getting too old for this job_ ” may or may not have passed his lips before he turned towards the energetic youth and seemingly braced himself for the encounter. And just like that Draco was offered a precious moment to take one last look at the redhead. Just to make sure he was alright. Just to see if he was still needed. If he was wanted. If he was forgiven. And the second their eyes met, Ron’s finger slipped, as if casually, to the thin golden chain around his neck that Draco could swear was not there before. The fingers brushed against the key-shaped pendant and Ron mouthed “ _Tomorrow_ ”. Yeah... it was only Wednesday. Draco’s life was fucked up that way.


	11. Cracked open and oozing true feelings

He waited for him in the unlit apartment for what felt like hours. The place was Ron’s now, at least in accordance with the magical laws, but the redhead never showed up here save for their Thursdays – and Draco often did. When he was desperate enough for a hint, a scent of his presence, he did. And on Thursdays, he’d just move in. He’d get himself all groomed and ready and then he’d wait for him. Sometimes he’d even make the place all nice and welcoming. A few candles here and there, some music from one of the Muggle appliances with round discs Ron introduced him to – a _complex disc_ _player_ or something like that – and a table, elaborately set for two, with a delicious meal prepared by his house elf safely stored under preservation charms... But not today.

Today the place was submerged in darkness and hungry shadows, cast by the feeble street lights. Much like Draco’s heart. He squatted in the middle of their bed, a shadow among shadows, huddled together with his arms wrapped around his folded legs and his chin resting on top of his knees. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, but it made him feel the safest and the least vulnerable. It felt as if he could only keep the darkness inside him from spilling by carefully holding onto himself.

When Ron finally stepped out of the fireplace, the faint afterglow of green flames of the floo revealed the outline of a slender almost child-like phantom crouching on top of the bed in darkness, looking still as a statue and every bit abandoned. And his heart constricted in his chest.

“Hey...” He approached Draco slowly, almost carefully, as if he was afraid he was going to break the fragile creature that took shelter in their love-nest. He sat down near him, as close as he dared not to upset him, and he brushed his pale cheek with his long fingers most gently. “Hey, baby... are you alright?”

And unexpected tears welled-up behind Draco’s closed eye-lids and he spoke just to draw his attention away from how vulnerable and hurt the tender gesture had left him – but his voice was barely audible:

“How’s your face?”

“It’s been better... Healers worked wonders. Though some warning would have been nice next time...” Ron tried to reach out to him with playfulness, but it was exactly the _wrong_ thing to do.

Draco’s head shot up like an arrow and those fucking hot tears just spilled in a most treacherous way: “Next time?! _Next time,_ Weasley!? I wasn’t aware you’re planning to get married _twice_ , you twat!” he howled. “In fact, I wasn’t even aware you were _scheming it behind my back_ the first time! _You_ are the one to talk about warnings!! _You!? Of all people?!_ Where the hell was yours?! You could have told me, you could have given me time to get ready for it, you could have stopped me from making a complete and utter fool of myself, you coward!”

His arm actually shot up towards his face, to hurt him some more, because he couldn’t handle the maelstrom of pain that washed over him so suddenly, but Ron caught him midway, all strong Auror-trained muscles, and growled:

“I had no warning, alright!?” And then added in a softer voice: “We have to... she’s expecting.”

“Expecting!? Expecting _what_?! Oh... _oh_.”

Somehow the world seemed to have found a new way to collapse over Draco with its full numbing weight. Suddenly he felt like Ron must have felt under Potter’s hex; like his chest was constricted, as if it was so filled up with pain it would burst out of his skin if he all but moved.

“You’re going to be a father,” he said dumbly and Ron nodded awkwardly.

“And I’m looking forward to it,” he added sincerely, even somewhat proudly and it was just another knife into Draco’s shredded heart. “So you see – I had to do it... Once she told me the news, I just had to. It’s a proper thing to do and I’ve been stalling long enough. Five years, Draco... five years, almost six now, I’ve been delaying it every way I knew how, dodging my mother’s urging about “finally doing the right thing” and “making an honest woman out of your fiancée”, finding one excuse after another, hoping...”

He stopped abruptly. He couldn’t share them with the blond, those cherished childish hopes of his that life would find a way for them to be together. He couldn’t give him so much, not now, when he should be taking it all away. Just… it was the one task he knew he wasn’t up to. He took one look at him, at the huddled broken creature staring at him with moist silver eyes, shoulders bathing in that silken out-of-this-world blond hair – and he couldn’t do it. His heart throbbed along with his cock and all he wanted to do was to hug him, snog him stupid and protect him from the world. Not hurt him further. He would never be able to leave Draco Malfoy behind. Might as well accept this. As long as Draco Malfoy would have him, he only had to ask and Ron would be his. He was only doing this because Draco never asked. And he never would.

And suddenly the narrow hand touched his face, caressed it most gently and the soft lips moved with a whisper:

“Love me… would you?”

And Ron felt like crying, like breaking his chest open and squeezing the life out of that horrible boiling heart that was causing him so much pain, like fucking him into the mattress and into another dimension where they could be together and it wouldn’t hurt.

But Draco was already on top of him, that delightful lithe body of his slid into Ron’s lap like a serpent, like a perfect fit they always were, and his hot mouth found him:

“Fuck me… fuck me tonight, Ron… I want you on top of me… hot, sweaty, bursting with come… oh, yeah, yessss…. like that… mark me…  I need you inside… hard, aching and howling… right fucking now… spread me, take me… make it raw… hurt me, Ron… hurt me… break me… break me apart…like only you know how…  - _"like what you’re about to do is breaking me,”_ was barely held back on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t leave me,” he said instead and the rest of his words, his thoughts, his universe disappeared inside Ron’s mouth.

And too late he realized Ron had no intention of doing what he asked of him. He made love to him instead.

“I can’t… I won’t…” the redhead panted straight into that soft mouth that drove him to do all the wrong things. “God knows I came here to do just that… to leave you… to forget you… but I can’t… and I won’t… And I can’t give you what you want either… I won’t break you… Because this… my love… is our quiet little wedding… our binding ceremony… with no witnesses… no vows… just us… cause there’s only ever been you… I’d pick you… over her… over anyone… anytime… every time…”

 _“Stop it,”_ Draco wanted to scream at him, _“stop cracking my heart open,”_ but he didn’t say anything because that ship had already sailed and he could feel his heart bleed all those impossible feelings and breathless needy hungry love that could never be.

“Make me forget… “ the blond whispered instead and his sorrow drowned in a million soft needy kisses, in loud unabashed moans of starving desire and acid pain because in his most intimate moments he could never keep quiet from what his heart really wanted.  He screamed his surrender, he begged for him, only him, for never wanting this to end, _“God, fucking god, Ron, I love you, only you…don’t leave me…”_ and _“I wish I could wake up to you, to your warm body, to that heavenly scented skin, to the light in your eyes, I’d sell my soul to be with you…”_ and in the very moment before that magnificent body pushed him over the edge into their private Universe of bliss his treacherous mouth opened and the unthinkable feelings slipped out on the open: “Don’t… don’t marry her…. marry me… Ron!”

And with one painful howl Ron came like he never came in his life and how he never hoped to come again: “Draco – please…!”

He didn’t even know he was crying until his shoulders began to shake. Buried deep inside Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley cried like a child and didn’t know how to stop. How could he have given him the one thing he wanted above all only after he had realized he couldn’t take it…?

And Draco’s heart shattered to pieces all over again, watching him sob and knowing how very betrayed he had left him. He had to fix it, he had to… he couldn’t leave him like this. He had to absolve him, he had to release him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said hastily. “Those words… I didn’t mean it… it was… it’s just pillow talk… you know, things people say… bloody hell, you just… you made me come so hard again, you bastard… and you know how I get… and… it was nothing… really… of course you have to marry her… of course you have to, don’t be daft… she’s expecting… there is no other way in our world… oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ron, please stop crying, I can’t bear it, I just… can’t…”

His voice broke in the end, under a weight of feelings, under the burden of all those terrible lies and he buried his fingers into the warm mass of Ron’s hair and held them both together, held on for dear life.

Slowly Ron’s sobs subsided and he looked up into the grey expanse of Draco Malfoy’s eyes and said quietly: “Just words… yeah?” As if he wanted to add “ _Promise?_ ” in the end and Draco confirmed with what was left of his shattered lying heart in his throat: “Just words.”  They lay perfectly still together for long warmth-filled moments, lost in their thoughts and in each other until Ron broke the silence with the voice that testified that he was still not his usual composed self:

“It is my stag night tomorrow… will you come?”

“No… what??? Weasley, you’re mental… I can’t come.” For some reason those words left Draco completely bewildered and decomposed. “Everyone knows we had a fight, it’ll be weird, it’ll make people ask questions…”

“Draco, I get married on Sunday,” Ron looked at him with those pretty blue eyes he could never say “no” to and there was no quiver in his voice: “I know you can’t be there for me, because that _would_ be weird. But I want you to come tomorrow. I… I’ll have something for you, something I want to give you. Just for a little while… no one has to see you. Please… be there.”

And with a dry throat Draco Malfoy simply nodded. He could not deny him.

~

So he was there, at the "Three Broomsticks" Potter had hired for the night exclusively for their party – and Ron must have made some kind of arrangement because he was admitted no questions asked. So he sat in a solitary corner, watched Ron get pissed and Potter make an utter fool of himself and he squeezed the glass in his hand into shattering when they played “truth and dare” and Potter lost - on purpose, just fucking purpose - just to kiss the groom-to-be…

And he watched Ron trying to give him a hasty kiss and Potter leaning into him heavily and digging his bony fingers into his man’s silken hair and kiss him thoroughly… a fucking hot, in every way real kiss that just went for on and on and on until there were catcalls and Ron pushed him aside, face the colour of tomato, and those legendary green eyes shone like Draco had never seen them shine before and they were liquid with held back tears… And he realized he was not the only one miserable here tonight, that at least he could be honest about it and fucking Potter had to play all jolly… It had almost made him laugh, except nothing came out of his throat but a pained hiss and he realized he was too drunk, and his cut hand was throbbing too fucking much, so he headed out to the men’s room to take care of it, to take a leak, to splash his face with cold water and ask the man in the mirror what the fuck was he doing in so wretched a place.

And when he came out of the loo a long arm took hold of him and pushed him into a dark corner under the stairs and before he was able to catch his breath he was being kissed into oblivion by a very drunk Ron Weasley and he found out, he really didn’t mind… Didn’t mind at all. He was there for this, to pay for those precious last moments of Ron’s freedom with pain, humiliation and whatever else was in store for him in this hell of a night.

“It was nothing… it meant nothing… just a joke. He’s drunk,” Ron tried to tell him with blurred words and Draco realized he was talking about Potter. _“He loves you,”_ he wanted to tell him, but couldn’t because even if it was Potter, he couldn’t betray another man like that. And in the end it didn’t matter. It was not Potter Ron was marrying. Potter was the loser, just like himself.

“Need a hangover potion… need to do this right,” Ron mumbled and pushed him against the wall. “Stay… stay here. Don’t move,” he told him. And Draco stayed. It was some time before the redhead returned, but it was not as if Draco had anything better to do. When he did return, however, he looked much more sober, perhaps even more sober than the blond and he took his hand silently and dragged him up the stairs in one of the rooms.

He locked it up carefully and put god knows what charms on it, Draco couldn’t be arsed to care. If Ron Weasley asked him that evening to come out of that room holding hands, he would have done it. That’s how far gone he was from his usual calculated self. It was just as well, that Ron didn’t know that. The redhead had leaned on the door, as if he was afraid to lose him, as if he hasn’t quite decided if he should run himself. He was biting his lower lip in the world’s sexiest manner and Draco found himself thinking how very much he’d like to draw blood from that pouty soft lip and the thought had found him hard already. Hard and bothered.

Then Ron moved towards him and Draco took a step backward, and another, until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he was forced to sit down.

“Do you know what day is it?” Ron asked him in a husky voice, sounding almost hungrily, and Draco closed his eyes and tried really hard, but nothing came through the haze in his brain, so he shook his head and opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into the blue of Ron’s eyes, because he had kneeled down and was now at the same height as Draco.

“It’s our anniversary,” the redhead told him quietly. “Our sixth. On this night - Friday night, just like today - six years ago you pushed me into leaving a pub just like this one and dragged me into your apartment and I’ve been yours ever since. And I think this calls for a little celebration, don't you agree?”

He kissed him, gently, with heat and moisture and love and abandon like he only knew how and if Draco Malfoy never loved him, he would have fallen in love with him at that very moment. And then he felt something cold and metallic touch his neck and he opened his eyes, the eyes he never knew he had closed, and he looked down his chest and there is was. A ring. A simple un-Malfoyian platinum ring on a thin silver chain, the engraving of a lion and serpent wrapped around each other shining in the candle-light, and he looked at Ron in confusion and found him smiling.

“I cannot put this on your finger... not yet,” he said softly in his warm rumbling undoing voice that held Draco’s hopes and dreams captive for as long as he remembered. “I am promised to another and one day, you will be, too. But I want you to have it. I want you to have this ring, to keep it next to you, warm and safe, on top of your heart because to me there is no place more precious on the planet. For love. For hope. Because this isn’t over, Draco Malfoy. As long as you wear my ring, I will know I can come looking for you. One day. Not today. No tomorrow. But one day… I will. If you’ll have me. That’s a promise.”

“I…” Draco was lost for words. He was drunk, he was in love, and the man of his dreams just gave him a ring and a promise.

“Ssshhh…” Ron put a finger on top of his lips, like he once did it to him when he gave him the key to the apartment and his heart. “You don’t have to say anything. Look, I’ve got another one here. You put it around my neck when you’re ready and the date will appear on both rings, they’re tied to each other with the same bond we are and charmed that way. Only when you’re ready. Once… when you are. You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t like to. I know you can’t. ‘s alright. I will know.”

He stole his breath away with soft warm mouth and Draco barely had enough presence of mind left to dig his fingers into Ron’s fist and close them around the precious necklace. He put it around the redhead’s neck without ever breaking the kiss and slid his fingers down the length of the chain to feel them close around the same ring that hung above his heart.

“There…” he breathed hungrily into Ron’s mouth. “I’m ready.”

And Ron understood a silent confession of love when he heard one. He knocked him back onto the dusty old bed, mouldy with years and unworthy of the love it hosted. But it was just as well. A king’s bed would have been well beneath it. Ron was tender, too tender, until Draco was wild with desire and whispering obscenities and keening around his revered name and then he rode him. He rode him like a tempest and Draco told him; he told him all those things he could never tell him sober, whispered all his fragile dreams and secret fantasies and all those private little confessions that knew were going to push him over the edge, like _“I want to smell of you in the morning, every morning”_ and _“I once charmed all my things in the colour of your eyes… my books, my quills, my clothes… even my wand…  all of them… every last one… so everywhere I looked I saw you… I missed you so”_ or _“I steal your clothes to keep myself warm when you’re gone”_ and _“don’t let go, I’ll die without you”_. 

And the redhead held him afterwards and treaded his fingers though his hair until he dozed away and only got up quietly, when he heard Harry coming up the stairs, howling in a drunken voice:

“Weasley!! Goddammit, mate, where are you!? Come out, come out, wherever you are! Ron, where the fuck are you, you fucking sissy!? What kind of a bloody stag night is this if you’re going to spend half of it dozing away happily! A little nap, he told me… Bastard… Come out, you git, I want you downstairs with me, pissed and rolling on the floor. Don’t make me come inside and kiss you again… you prick… I love you, you twat…”

And Ron kissed Draco’s cheek gently and Draco pretended for both their sakes that he was asleep and the redhead slipped out of the door with a silent “click” and he could hear him try to drag an inebriated Potter downstairs with lots of laughter and rough words. And he just lay there, holding his ring and went peacefully back to sleep.

If he had it his way, he would have slept throughout Saturday and Sunday or perhaps he would have gone somewhere else entirely, anywhere _not here_ , where Ron Weasley was marrying the Mudblood, but he had an appointment with Chief Kingsley on Monday morning to see if he still had his job and in the end – what did it matter where he was, when all he did was tried to forget what day it was and that Ron was no longer a free man.


	12. Unbreakable

On Monday they met at Chief Kingsley’s office. Ron arrived first, sporting a shiny golden band around his finger, and Draco… Draco liked to be fashionably late. Which was just as well, Kingsley had a thing or two to say to Ron Weasley in private.

“That was some wedding, son,” he said kindly and added: “Congratulations, of course! Hermione made a  stunning bride and I hope you two will be very happy together! I was in the army of guests, but so was the rest of the wizarding Britain, so I suppose you wouldn’t have remembered me even if I got around to actually giving you my best wishes. And please give my compliments to Molly – I did know it was possible to throw a reception this size in so short a time. But I suppose she was ready to outdo herself for the occasion of giving her youngest son away.”

“And don’t forget Harry’s engagement to Ginny,” Ron mumbled to himself and shifted uncomfortably. This was another affair that made him feel off and as if he had by mistake set a foot in a dimension where everything was a bit sideways. Harry was absolutely cornered. Once Ginny found out he had gotten so drunk he actually kissed Ron – again! – she threw a fit that made the Death Eaters’ raid look like a toddlers’ walk in the park. And in the end Harry Potter, the Saviour of the wizarding world, found himself hiding with Ron behind one of the big shabby sofas in the Burrow, with hexes flying at them if one of them as much as showed a hair. He looked at Ron almost in despair:

“She’s really pissed off this time, mate. What the hell am I supposed to do? If only Hermione was here, she wouldn’t let her kill her future husband _and_ her best friend!”

And Ron, who couldn’t help but to find the situation at least a bit comical, shrugged in a mixture of amusement and annoyance: “Well… there is _one_ thing… you could always ask her.”

When he saw the complete lack of understanding in his best mate’s eyes, he clarified: “Ask her to marry you, you git. You’ve been delaying long enough; no wonder she thinks you’re not serious. Might as well do it, we’ll both be married men, share the misery and all that rot. Besides, she’s not likely to off her own groom either, is she?”

And Harry just stared at him with the most incomprehensible look in those legendary green eyes and he said quietly: “And you’re OK with that?”

And Ron shrugged once more: “Yeah… I guess. I’ve long ago come to terms that eventually she’s going to choose someone which I won’t be allowed to hate and if it’s you, mate – I know you’re this really terrible person and a proper twat – but I think she could do a lot worse than you. Plus she’s head over heels about you, so… yeah, I guess you have my blessing, you ponce.”

And Harry just stared at him with those unfathomable eyes and for some reason looked as if something inside him crumbled: “So… we’ll be family, yeah?” he finally managed and Ron hugged him and locked him into one of his notorious bear hugs and quietly kissed him on the brow: “We’re already family, Harry. It’ll just be on the paper from now on.”

“I love you, Ron,” Harry Potter whispered into his neck and the redhead mussed his impossible hair some more and said without a much of a thought: “I love you, too, Potter. Now, don’t go all sappy on me and get us out of this mess, you’re supposed to be this really cool Saviour and shit. C’mon, let’s see what you’re worth!”

And Harry Potter wiped away the few drops of moisture from his long jet-black eyelashes that he didn’t want anyone to see and yelled: “Oy… Ginny!”

“Don’t even bother, Harry Potter! _Don’t.Even.Bother!!!_ I’ve had it with your excuses; I’ve had it with your antics! If it’s my brother you want…”

“For God’s sake woman…!!! Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you marry me?!”

“I’ve had it with your lies, I’ve had it with your… _what_??!” And in the total silence that ensued, the sound of a wand that clattered to the ground was impossible to miss.

“Time for action, mate! It’s now or never, this is our window of opportunity, hurry up, before she picks up her brain from the ground,” whispered the redhead frantically, unable to hide how much fun he was having. “Good luck,” he added and leaned in to kiss the raven-haired youth on the cheek, because Harry just liked this sort of thing. But the second before Ron’s lips touched his cheek, Harry Potter turned his face and caught his lips full on. There was nothing innocent about the kiss they shared and Ron’s eyes got all big and impossibly blue when he realized what Harry was doing. He broke the kiss somewhat forcefully and stared at his best-mate panting and Harry Potter repeated with fire in his quiet voice: “I love _you_ … Ron.”

Then without a warning he jumped over the sofa and went on one knee in front of Ron’s sister: “Will you have my hand in marriage, Ginny? I know I didn’t bring a ring and all that… this was a bit… uhm, unexpected, but I’ll get you one, a proper one and I’d really like you to have me, so…”

“Yes!” breathed the redheaded beauty. “Yes, Harry, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times _yes_!! Oh, my god… sweet Merlin I can’t believe this is happening! Are we really getting married?! _Are we_?!”

And Harry Potter got up from his knee and hugged the suddenly teary girl fiercely and said with genuine warmth: “Not more than a year from now, hon. And we’ll be a proper family soon.” And his green eyes wondered towards Ron, who just stared at him with a distinct feeling that he just made his best friend do the right thing for all the wrong reasons.

His musings were interrupted by Chief Kingsley’s unusually quiet voice: “Yes… Harry Potter. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

He shifted in his chair rather uncomfortably because there was no elegant way to say this, but there was no way around it either: “You see the thing is, son… you’re no good for Potter.”

When he saw the complete lack of understanding in Ron’s eyes, he elaborated: “He gets all crazy and protective and… well, you saw it, a little bit irrational around you… Bloody hell, Ron, you saw how he reacted the other day… that’s no way to treat a colleague, even if it is the annoying menace by the name of Draco Malfoy. And you two being joined at the hip the way you are… it’s not… _proper_ … people talk…”

He looked at him pointedly, hoping the redhead would understand his words the way they were meant, but Ron looked at his boots, suddenly the colour of ripe tomato and then looked up and straight at him stubbornly: “We’re just friends. I love the man like a brother; he’s marrying my sister, for god’s sake! We’ve been best mates forever! People are always going to talk, let them. We’re nothing but friends… just best mates,” he said defiantly, as if he needed to hear it out loud to believe it.

“Of course you are,” said Chief Kingsley hastily, suddenly acutely aware that he could achieve nothing by complicating the matter further. “But you must understand - I need my Aurors at the top of their capabilities, not distracted - so this is what we’re going to do: I’m promoting Harry to Head Auror and you are due for a promotion to Senior Auror, effective as soon as you return from your honeymoon. And as such, you are going to be assigned a new partner.”

But Ron just stared at him with complete lack of comprehension and one could almost see the beginnings of a tantrum forming: “But I’ve never worked with anyone else than Harry,” he said loudly. “We understand each other with no words, we work like a charm; this is such a _wrong_ thing to do…”

“I believe I will be the judge of that, Mr. Weasley,” said Chief Kinsley firmly, blessing his life-long experience in dealing with the infamous Prewett birth-line. “Last time I checked, I was still the head of this department and you _will_ do as I say. Now, there is this new programme of improving efficiency… oh, good Mr. Malfoy, do come in, tardy as you are. I was just explaining Mr. Weasley here why I was pairing him with you.”

A herd of mammoths on steroids could easily pass through Ron Weasley’s mouth, but Draco Malfoy simply froze.

“Why?” he said finally, his voice apprehensive as if he couldn’t understand why would someone who had no reason to come to his rescue, throw him a life-line when he was drowning.

“Well, as I was about to explain for Mr. Weasley here when you – at long last - decided to join us – we have this new programme of improving efficiency of our investigative squads on the field – designed by your wife, by the way, Mr. Weasley, so you know it’s rather genius – and it has been brought to our attention that due to the high-risk jobs our Aurors are doing over 65 per cent end up requiring one type of medical attention or another – _daily_! This is of course an alarming number and a lot of grave injuries and long-term effects of curses could have been avoided or at least alleviated should there be a Healer present on site promptly.

Now, Mr. Malfoy here has demonstrated quite successfully, that he is more than capable and somewhat talented, while his… unorthodox life-path has equipped him with a set of skills other Healers are unlikely to have.” In short – Draco could identify and counter dark spells and hexes most other Healers have never even heard of before. The blond was impressed almost against his own will. Of course he wasn’t going to share this. So he merely raised one of his eyebrows and asked pointedly:

“So why Weasley?”

“Because, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley here has been a target of the attacks more than _any other Auror_ in this department – mainly because of him interfering with the path of curses meant for the reckless Mr. Potter. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that his mother will hang my head on the wall if she has to go and visit him at St. Mungo’s again. Mr. Weasley here is a high-value target for the criminals as well as a high-value employee and due for promotion to Senior Auror after he returns from his honeymoon. As such he will be entitled to protection on the field and since I’m promoting Mr. Potter to Head Auror…”

“You are sticking Potter with an _office job_?!” Draco asked incredulously and he couldn’t stop his shoulder from shaking in laughter. “Call it what you want, he will know what it is. And he will decline.”

“Mr. Potter _has_ no choice,” Chief Kingsley informed him coldly. “His actions towards you – yes, I did my investigative work well, Mr. Malfoy, I know who the hex was really meant for! – well, those actions were reckless and uncalled for and he can call himself lucky to stay in the employ of this Ministry, let alone be promoted!” Kingsley boomed. “As it is, I can hardly fire a Saviour, but I can remove him from the field – if only temporary and partially – _and I will_.

So – I would hereby like your answer and I would like one _now_ , if you please. Are you willing to accept your assignment as partners on the field; put your differences aside and learn to work together in the benefit of this Ministry and the rest of the wizarding community? And I warn you, gentlemen – if you two accept today, I do not wish to hear a single word of your disputes, let alone duels, or – god forbid! - brawls ever again. I believe you two have already set a life-time worth of bad examples to our junior employees! Whatever problems you have, I expect you to settle them off the Ministry premises and outside the Ministry working time. However, if you _refuse_ …”

“I accept,” said Ron Weasley unexpectedly and his eyes shone with blue brilliance like sapphires. “We’ll be fine. We’ll work it out. We’re can be professional… can’t we, Malfoy?”

“Well… yes… I suppose,” mumbled Draco, because he had a reputation to uphold and it wouldn’t do to hug Chief Kingsley and kiss him soundly.

“Well, that’s settled, then.” Kingsley Shacklebolt got up energetically from behind his table and offered his huge hand first to Ron and then to Draco. “You’ll start once Mr. Weasley here returns from his honeymoon; that is to say in two weeks time. If there is still something that is bothering you about this arrangement, I expect you to come to terms with it by then. Goodbye, gentlemen and let me not hear of any of your excesses again… for a very long time… preferably not ever again.”

He watched them leave and once the door clicked behind them he couldn’t help the big smile spreading across his face and if he was the type to congratulate himself on a job well done, he would have done it now.

A goal he had long ago set for himself has finally been achieved: Harry Potter would be kept safe. It simply _wouldn’t do_ for the Saviour to die in the world he fought so hard for because of his misplaced sense for adventure and lack of self-preservation. As long as he was alive and working for the Ministry, they could do nothing wrong. Besides, he was being promoted to the one position he could not take Weasley with him and it was about time these two split. He had spoken the truth to Ron – he was no good for him. He brought out the wildest and the most unpredictable emotions in Harry Potter and the Ministry needed to make sure the legendary young man did not set an unwelcome example of taking his affections in… undesired direction. It would not do well for the diminishing wizarding community to have men paired with men _that_ way.

But with Potter engaged to Ginny Weasley everything was going to change now and hopefully, for the better. There will be a marriage at last and Harry Potter will soon be a proper husband and a legitimate father; a pillar of the post-war community, not a ex-war hero, living in sin - it bothered Molly so! - fighting the petty scum, refusing to take his proper role in the wizarding world because he was head over heels in love with his _male_ best friend. They couldn’t have that.

And it was not like Ron Weasley wanted Potter _that way_ anyway... which was something he could not say about Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t believe he let it slip right by him for so long - once he took a good hard look, he had honestly never seen two people more… _infatuated_ with one another. Their animosity certainly was a good cover, but he saw Weasley look at Malfoy the other day and his eyes shone like diamonds and Malfoy... Malfoy just had this obsessed hungry look in those distinguished silver eyes that practically screamed _“Don’t touch my man!”_ – and there really wasn’t much more to say.

And – what a pair they were! Ron Weasley with his unusual talent for wandless magic, excellent strategist and absolutely fearless – and Draco Malfoy, cold as ice, focused even under the gravest of circumstances when he was forced to fight for the life of the man he clearly adored. They will be invincible together and he was certain Molly Weasley was off his back for good – Malfoys protected what was theirs fiercely. Chief Kingsley had no doubt they will be most effective and if they got a bit of fun on the side – who was to blame them? It’s not like a Malfoy would ever publicly own up to a relationship with a Weasley, a _male_ Weasley, even! While that danger was acutely present with Potter, Chief Kinsgley was fairly certain that he had nothing to fear in that department.

Yes, it was all very well done indeed.

~

They were sitting in a Ministry diner, quiet, submerged in their own thoughts, each holding a cup of hot liquid between their fingers, for the first time with a legitimate excuse to be seen in each other’s company.

Ron was worrying his bottom lip with those perfect white teeth and Draco had to look away with a knot in his throat and a miserable thought in his head that the redhead seemed none too happy about the arrangement. Perhaps this was not a good idea after all, though it had warmed him all the way down to the bones when he first considered the possibility. His train of thoughts was interrupted by a soft chuckle and when he looked at Ron again, he saw those blue eyes focused on him and the amusement in them was unmistakable.

“Bloody hell...” he said in a raspy voice. “I’d pay good money to see how Harry’s going to take the news...” He paused a little and said: “Are you OK with this... with us? I mean, I know I said _yes_ and all, cause it was like a dream come true for me, but if you don’t want it...”

“Weasley, don’t be absurd!” Draco interrupted, because he needed to say something harsh and do it quickly, before he snogged him stupid and spilled how ridiculously happy he was. Malfoys didn’t do  happy, least of all not the ridiculous variety of it, so this was the only way, really. “Of course I’m content! I wouldn’t have said yes, if I was not in favour of this... arrangement. Kingsley had us cornered anyway and... “ when he saw the joy in those blue eyes begin to fade, he leaned forward and asked in a hushed voice:

“Do you really think I’m daft enough to pass up on opportunity to get a hold of that magnificent arse of yours? As in, every day? The very thought leaves me hard in my pants, Weasley...” He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was revelling in the very thought of it and mouthed in a soft voice:  “In fact... I might be hard, impossibly...   _excruciatingly_ hard right now... this very moment, hard and aching... and no Thursday for me, you’ll be gone for a fortnight... so you’ve got me now, Weasley... Ron... what are you going to do about it?”

But Ron could play this game as well. He merely leaned in closer with narrowed eyes; brilliant blue ponds shining through the long silken eyelashes naughtily, and murmured: “Oh, I don’t know... how about I leave you like this and see how long you can take it before you beg me for it?” And when he saw a shimmer of light flash at the bottom of those silver eyes, he just smiled most beatifically and added softly:

“Or… I suppose we _could_ take advantage of my day off and apparate to our flat and I’d go down on my knees for you, Malfoy... suck on that wonderful piece of hard... smouldering hot _wood_ you have in your pants, until you’re stuttering my name, cause you can’t remember your own... I’ll let you paint my face with your come, love... And I’ve got a _whole_ day off, you know... I don’t know what to do with a whole day off for packing; I’m done in half an hour, so if you’re in _any way_ interested in sealing this lovely agreement we have here with some _long slow fucking_...”

“ _Goddfuckingdamnyouweasley_ ,” Draco blurted, cheeks flushed and eyes fixed on that lovely mouth in front of him, whispering obscenities. “You’re lucky I don’t make you go down on your knees right here, in front of everybody, you bloody foul-mouthed perv....”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby... Show the whole world that wonderful _long angry prick_ bulging against your pants... pressing _so_ hard... wanting the release _so badly_... I’d bury my face in your lap and eat you slowly, for everyone to see... to hear you give those delicious short screams of surrender... and my name... would you like to scream my name for everyone to hear, Draco... should I make you...?”

As casually as possible his hand crept up Draco’s thigh where the thumb drew a small tempting circle and drove the blond completely out of control.

“Ron... please... oh, goddamn you, _please don’t_... not here... anywhere... our place... our place in 15 minutes, let me just get to the floo... of _motheroffuckinggod_ , how am I suppose to move now, with this between my legs...?!”

“Your problem, not mine, you started it,” shrugged the redhead with glee and mischief still set deep in those mesmerising blue eyes and slipped from behind the table to stand up. He stretched his body with abandon; robes open down the middle and his favourite autographed Chuddley Cannons t-shirt hugging every taut muscle like a second skin - and looked at the miserable blond with a small sexy smile: “15 it is... Don’t make me come back for you... or I’ll lick you clean in front of all these people....” he  whispered in a low dangerous voice and it was all Draco Malfoy could do not to come on the spot.

“ He doesn’t mean it... he can’t mean it,” he told himself time and time again, but Weasley was mad and dangerous and up to fucking anything, Draco would not put it beyond him to... Merlin, he shouldn’t be thinking about it, he shouldn’t be... So it was that Draco Malfoy took off the top of his robes and carried them in front of him, making sure they covered all the more... prominent and embarrassing parts of him all the way to the floo. And it was all worth it when there was a very naked Ron Weasley sprawled on their bed with a big ginger cat smile on his pretty face and Draco could drop everything, his coat, his pretence and everything that was holding him back and together. And just jump him.


	13. To give some, to take some away

He lay there in his embrace hours later, relaxed, boneless and almost dozing away, when an unexpected thought ambushed him and woke him up completely. Ron was leaving for a two-week honeymoon, he knew that as well as he knew that this unexpected gift of time they got to spend together spelled everything Ron couldn’t say: that he was sorry and that he was going to miss him. But did it also say “goodbye”? Was this perhaps Ron’s way of saying he won’t be coming anymore? With a wife and a baby on the way, this was a very real possibility. Weasley was just crazy this way. He found himself with his heart beating like a drum in his throat and suddenly he could think of nothing else. He had to find out and found out now, even at the risk of sounding desperate.

“So, Weasley…” he made a feeble attempt at drawling, but he was certain Ron could feel his fluttering heart against his skin and call his bluff with his eyes closed. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I know you’re leaving tomorrow, so what is this… goodbye until next time… or just goodbye, plain and simple?”

Ron’s fingers, treading through his hair, stopped abruptly and a moment later he was pulled up, all brutal strength and no attempt at subtlety. Yeah, that was Weasley alright; the man was practically a bear, manners and all. And deliciously warm and protective. He found himself staring into Ron’s eyes and the redhead spoke quietly:

“Don’t even think it… I could never leave you. A _Gryffindor_ here, hello?! We’re _nothing_ if not loyal. I know what we have is in no way formal, I know you like to think you’re just toying around until something real happens and someone better comes along... I _know_ you, Draco Malfoy. And I know sooner or later you’re going to cave in under your parents’ wishes and find someone to share your life in the spotlight with... and I know that can never be me. You’ll _never_ be ready to parade me around and I’m willing to take this in stride.”

There was a deep sadness at the bottom of those blue eyes and Draco’s heart constricted painfully in his chest. God, he didn’t mean to hurt him and this fucking wobbly self-esteem of his…

But Ron already continued, his voice adamant and warm, though laced with a hint of sadness: “But that doesn’t make it any less real to me. I know it’s only Thursday meetings and that you could do a lot better than me, even when only lovers are considered, but to me – this counts. It counts for a whole lot, sometimes it’s the only thing that makes me go through the week. The few times I was forced to do without you…  it was like a string of fucking endless grey days soaked in yearning that seemed to stretch on forever… until our next meeting… it’s like on Thursdays all the colours in the world explode with brilliance for me – they’re my favourite days of the week. I’d never give them up. Unless… you brought this up because you want to?”

He looked at him straight, the sadness in those exquisite blue eyes more pronounced and Draco found himself again with a knot in the throat:

“Don’t be absurd,” he said quickly, his voice almost crumbling. “You give it to me like no one else does…”

And he hoped Ron understood that he didn’t only refer to the mind-blowing sex, because Ron was right; he couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t bring himself around to confessing how much more this has become. “It’s just – my parents are pressuring me something crazy,” he finally blurted. “They can’t seem to shut up about “ _that blasted Potter and the Weasleys marrying up and down_ ” and I’m afraid I’m going to have to… eventually… you know… agree to a certain arrangement… but I by all means plan to keep our arrangement intact, I couldn’t…” he knew he was blabbing now, but he couldn’t help himself.

He desperately needed to make sure that wherever their lives took them, they would somehow find a way to make this work. He needed it. He needed it like water and air and he needed to make sure it was still going to be there - no matter what. And if the only way to get there was to confess that he planned to do everything in his power to keep it going, then this goddamn confession it was. That’s how fucked he was. Thursdays were… important. Thursdays were everything. And apparently Ron thought so as well, because he let the fingers of his hand slip under his chin and he tilted his head gently to look him straight in the eyes.

“I know you have a life away from me, Draco Malfoy. A life that makes these Thursdays seem like a very _very_ bad habit. I’ve made myself vulnerable with wife and a baby on the way. You were _born_ vulnerable. You’re a Malfoy and there’s nothing you can do about it; no way in which you could introduce the universe of Thursdays to the life you live every day without a devastating clash. I know you won’t risk it. I’m not asking you to. You... do as you must. As hard as this is for me... and I know you don’t need it... you have my permission to be a proper Malfoy, with everything that entails... a wife, an heir. I can’t stop you. And I won’t. But I won’t leave you either. For me... when you show up every Thursday, it means everything. It says more about this than you ever will. And just to see that I appreciate it... don’t forget our next Thursday.”

“Weasley, I dare say you’re awfully short of memory,” said Draco in his best annoyed voice, because he needed a cover to hide just how raw he was. “You _can’t_ be here next Thursday or the next, you Gryffindor dork, and it’s a sad thing that _I_ have to remind you about it. You’ll be exploring whatever the hell the Mud... your wife thinks is interesting in Egypt, for all it’s worth, I think she’s ready to take on the entire Alexandrian library and you’d be left alone to scorch in boredom and the unbearable heat.”

“Twat,” smiled Ron and kissed him. “You’re probably right, though... Well, there are always cute Egyptian boys to ogle.... ouch!... what was that for?!”

Draco pinched him mercilessly: “You, Ronald Billius Weasley – God Almighty, I didn’t even know I knew your full name and what an awful name it is! – _you_ , Sir, are _not ogling_ anyone or anything that comes with an arse, is that understood!? Or will you force me to perform some overly-complex and possibly illegal spell-work that could make your ability for arse-ogling a thing of the past!?”

Ron threw his head back and laughed heartily and from such close proximity it left Draco breathless and dizzy... Merlin, how he loved to see him laugh! A completely unabashed explosion of pure joy and happiness, released out into the Universe with abandon... and that sparkle in his eyes... He couldn’t help himself, he kissed him greedily, as if he could eat this precious emotion pregnant with magic straight from his mouth and he couldn’t be smugger when it ended in a soft moan and “Draco... god, man... just be here, alright?” And he had no mouth to speak with and no brain left to think of what Ron could have meant for some time to come...

But he was there on Thursday, he had nowhere better to be anyway. He probably would have been here even if Ron didn’t ask it of him. He just... Thursdays were for them and he missed the very scent of him. He knew he would be spending the night here if Ron fire-called or not. Regardless. Just because. Because he couldn’t do without. Even when it was all an illusion. That’s just how fucked up he was.

And when the fire-place roared to life and out stepped one Ron Weasley, freckled, tired, radiant and sporting a tan, Draco’s year-long drill in manners and eloquence refused to come to his assistance.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted and couldn’t take his eyes of the tall muscled frame and sun bleached hair that shone like red gold.

“Oh, let’s see,” said Ron matter-of-factly and perhaps just a bit smugly. “I lied to my pregnant wife, left her for the night with my brother and his wife to rest her swollen feet, took two international port-keys and a very long and disorienting floo just to – as you so smartly put it “ _give it to you like no one else does_ ” – and this is what I get as a thank you and a welcome?”

And then he was knocked backwards by a very un-Malfoyian head-on assault that landed a ridiculously happy Draco Malfoy grinning madly on top of him, kissing him with abandon.

“You... Weasley... are killing me...” he managed and Ron took it, the way it was meant, from the heart. “Smug bastard... -  _give it to me like no one else does -_  he said,” Draco mumbled as he planted his kisses all over the pretty face that haunted him day and night.

“Your words, not mine...” chuckled Ron straight into his mouth and the vibration of his sweet mouth against Draco’s was the most beautiful thing on the planet. “Perhaps you should think more carefully before you place a weapon so powerful in my mouth again.”

“Oh... I will... be sure of that... I’ll think _very carefully_ what to plant in that beautiful mouth of yours next, Weasley,” Draco all but moaned, because Ron’s mouth just re-discovered his sensitive neck and began licking long wet stripes all the way from the pulse to that soft spot just beneath his ears and turned him all liquid on spot. “Christ, Ron... I missed you,” his stupid mouth confessed before he could stop it, but it was just as well, because the redhead came and it was all for him.

He rested inside his magnificent arms afterwards, spent and boneless, and he would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of his days like this. As it was, he was desperately trying to soak in some of his warmth and strength just to make it through the horrible long days before he could have this again and when Ron moved, too soon and inevitably, with a soft “ _Draco... I should go_ ”, he blurted out without a thought:

“My mother is throwing me a grand ball on Saturday... to pick a bride.”

And Ron just stopped dead mid-movement and looked at him with sad, unfathomable eyes.

“I don’t want to,” Draco kept on blabbing. “I don’t, honestly... but I must. The house of Malfoy needs an heir and I can’t neglect my duty any longer. You must understand...”

“I do,” said Ron quietly and began putting his clothes on. “I told you, I know you have to; I knew this was coming... but it doesn’t hurt any less.”

He kissed him one last time, softly, with love and devotion only a broken heart was capable of and looked deep into his eyes: “Whoever you pick... treat her gently. It’s not her fault. Perhaps she’ll also have to give something precious up to be with you.”

And he left; stepped into a fire-place and blew him a kiss, but the smile never reached his lovely eyes.

Draco didn’t know the heart could get shattered time and time again.

~

In two weeks time there was a splendid front-page photo in the Daily Prophet of “ _Draco Malfoy, the heir of the Malfoy estate, attending the charity ball for children in need in the company of his beautiful fiancée Lady Astoria Greengrass_ ”

The pretty young lady on the picture smiled blissfully at the tall slender blond, who looked in every way content, and Ron crumpled that blasted rag of a newspaper and went flying. And if he came back with slightly red eyes he could tell everyone it was from the wind. It didn’t matter. He was starting a new week at work with his new partner and at least he had that.

It wasn’t until 4 months later when he received a beautifully decorated invitation in a creamy thick envelope, inviting one “ _Ronald Billius Weasley and spouse to the wedding of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass_ ” that he lost it completely.


	14. There to witness defeat

“There is a visitor at the door for you, Master,” a rather alarmed house-elf informed the party gathered in the breakfast parlour of the Malfoy Manor.

“How bizarre,” Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrow and looked at his house-elf darkly as if this was somehow his fault. “Who visits at this ungodly hour? It is not even 9 in the morning, how very inappropriate! But perhaps if it’s urgent... Well, do not be disturbed,” he motioned to his wife and son when he got up. “I shall deal with this promptly.”

And he entirely missed it when the jittery house-elf squealed after him: “But, Master... it is not for you! He demands to see Master Draco,” he added miserably and Draco got up abruptly sensing a disaster. He wouldn’t dare, would he...?

“Draco!” The fury in his father’s voice was unmistakable. He stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed and literally spitting through his teeth: “Why is there _a Weasley_ in my house, demanding to see you!?”

The way he had said it one would think they have suddenly found themselves in the vicinity of a particularly nasty smelling pile of Hippogriff waste and the young blond closed his eyes for one deadly moment, wishing he was anywhere but here – and exhaled slowly. Well, nothing for it now... _Bloody Weasel_...

“Well, Father, since you absolutely refuse to discus my employment at the Ministry and any details in connection to my _work_ ,” he stressed the word with almost perverse pleasure, “I was unable to inform you that I have been recently paired to Ron Weasley as a part of the Auror-Healer trial programme. Well, not so recent, now that I think of it,” he shrugged. “Would be four months now, actually and I think the trial stage of the programme might be a thing of the past – I believe myself quite cemented to my old arch-enemy. Just one of life’s little ironies, don’t you think?” he looked at the enraged man with a smirk and saw his eyes positively shoot arrows.

“And _you_... did you know about this... _disgrace_?!” Lucius barked at his wife next, desperately trying to get a grip on his boiling feelings.

“Well, of course, darling,” Narcissa said as calmly as the sea before the storm. “I made it my business to know. And I believe I might also have a clue as to why the young man is here today.” She looked at her husband with unfathomable ice-blue eyes and then turned to Draco: “I’m fairly certain this has to do with the wedding invitation. One has been sent to him and his spouse with the first owl this morning.” _“At your explicit wish”_ , was wisely kept to herself.

But Lucius all but exploded anyway.

“What on Salazaar’s bloody Earth is this madness?! Have you gone utterly insane, the pair of you!? There will be _no Weasleys_ on my only son’s wedding! They are blood-traitors, a filthy lot, every last one of them, where is your sense of propriety?!” Lucius was about as flushed as his son ever saw him and there was malice in his voice that clearly testified of the generations-long hatred between the two pureblood families.

But Narcissa would not be intimidated. She got up from behind the table abruptly, almost as tall as her husband, and majestic in her cold disdain:

“I should very much like to know where is yours!” she shot at him and there was a rare flare of the Black temper at the bottom of her crystal eyes. “There will not be a whole nest of Weasleys sitting at your table – you know very well as I do, that they would decline the invitation even if one was issued. But this _one_ Weasley will be there, so help me God - if he accepts. Which he might not, hearing you rage about his family most indecently at the top of your voice! How very crude and inappropriate, Lucius!

Need I remind you that the Weasleys, in spite of what you may think of them, are highly respected, present in all layers of our society, from banks to Ministry departments to commerce and sports – and on top of that they are _purebloods_ and as such in every way _entitled_ of having one of their family present at the bonding of two other pureblood families! It is our custom and it is _proper_! The young man Draco has chosen to invite as his guest is his partner at the Ministry and your son’s life might depend on him, so don’t you _dare_ speak derogatively of him, ever again! Need I remind you he is Harry Potter’s best friend and you’ve been trying to redeem yourself in the eyes of a Saviour for years!”

“Besides,” she added on a softer note, when she saw a flabbergasted look in his eyes – indeed, Lucius Malfoy was very rarely at the receiving end of his wife’s scolding – “This is your son’s wedding and he’s fit to do as he pleases. Or do you want to extinguish the joy of his marriage before it even began? Think, Lucius!” she hissed almost inaudibly. “This was hard enough and Draco is very unwilling! Do not ruin this for our family!” she warned him and saw his anger deflate.

She cast a cautious look in the direction of her son, but Draco was no longer there.  Once he saw his mother get up adamantly to take on this battle for him, he knew he was no longer needed. His father would yield, no doubt about it, no one ever stood a chance against Narcissa Malfoy if she put her mind to it. But Ron... Ron was an entirely different game.

Sticking to the old Malfoyian lore that the best defence is, in fact, offence, he launched into the reception room without as much as a hint of remorse showing and hissed towards the visibly seething redhead:

“Have you gone utterly _mad_?! How dare you bring your business into my father’s house?!”

“ _Mad_?! Oh, so now _I’m_ the one who’s mad!? What the fuck is this thing, Malfoy, this… invitation!?”

Ron was practically howling, a clear indication that he was more than just a little beside himself. And once the hard envelope hit him straight in the face Draco’s resolve to stay cool shook dangerously. Because he only had to look into those brilliant blue eyes to see that under the rage and the unforgivably booming voice there was genuine hurt that made him think he has once again ominously approached one of the invisible boundaries of their fragile relationship. And _that_... he could not have that, not at this point in his life.

“Keep it down!” he hissed once more and stepped closer, just to maintain some semblance of control, but from up close Ron’s eyes were flashing with fire and looking dangerous and so very blue Draco had no strength to hold him back. “Please,” he whispered helplessly and did the only sane thing that came to his mind. He grabbed his upper arm and apparated them into his private quarters, away from the prying eyes, away from the scandal about to erupt, away from his life crumbling to pieces because he couldn’t do this alone.

The second Ron came to his senses he pounced at him, but it was not the lover’s game they’ve become accustomed to, this was the brutal force behind the Auror Ronald Weasley, with eyes suddenly as dark as the midnight sky and his outstretched arm holding him by the neck, cutting him short of breath.

“Why the fuck are you so dead set on hurting me?!” he growled and Draco count his lucky stars that the privacy charms were a standard equipment of all the Malfoy quarters. Barely able to breathe and high from adrenaline rush he stared into that darkened mesmerising face, dizzy and tense at the same time, and the truth flew out uncalled for:

“I can’t do this without you.”

And just like that he was allowed to breathe. Ron’s fist slackened as he looked at him with a frown, as if he didn’t know what to think of this statement – but it didn’t let go, ready to do his master’s bidding and squeeze the life out of the blond menace some more, should his explanation not make sense.

“You can’t do this to me,” said Ron in a quieter voice. “You can’t make me go through your wedding. I’ll be a mess… I’ll just embarrass you. And I won’t just sit there with my wife in tow, getting ignored by the rest of the wedding party,” he said stubbornly, finally trying to come up with a legitimate reason why the very thought of being present at Draco Malfoy’s wedding made him feel raw. “I can’t, Draco,” he said even more quietly.

“And I’m telling you I can’t do this without you,” Draco erupted in an equally quiet though heated voice. “And I won’t. The very thought… At least the Mud…. Granger is someone you care about and I… I hardly know this woman. I’m so fucking lost… And I need _you_ there. I need to see you, when I walk down that blasted aisle, I need to watch you when I say “I do”, I need… you. There. With me. Leave the wife back home, if you like. I don’t care. But be there for me. I was there for your stag night, wasn’t I? Ignored, embarrassed and humiliated, a fucking mess… everything you expect to be. And I’m calling in a favour. I want you there, Ron Weasley. I want… you.”

His mouth was suddenly, mercifully closed by a set of heavenly soft lips as Ron Weasley shut him up the only way he knew how. And Draco realized that sometime between the crushing grip around his neck and the soft glow of those beloved blue eyes he had turned into a right mess, so needy and so incredibly turned on he couldn’t think of anything other than that infernal mouth drinking the very life from him and pouring liquid fire down his veins.

“I’ll be there…” whispered Ron into the mess of grinding flesh, small helpless moans and liquid tongues licking and devouring all sanity between them. “I’ll be there for you… I’ll bloody damn myself… for you. What does it matter…? How’s that any different… from what we do… like this… you push me into hellfire, Draco Malfoy… and I’ll burn for you, if I have to. I’ll be there. So you have someone to say those words to.”

And those words incorporated so well why Draco wanted him there that there really wasn’t much more to say... not that he could... even if he wanted to... There was nothing left of his brain when Ron lifted him up as if he weighed nothing and Draco wrapped his legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to bring them closer. He needed to... he needed _him_... he needed to grind against that hot hard place that made him fall apart if he only allowed himself to think about it for too long, he needed the friction, he needed his undoing harsh words of domination and blunt brutal desire, he needed Ron Weasley to need him... and nothing else mattered.

It didn’t matter that this was his home, his territory, that there was a very pissed off Father and an alert, astute Mother just rooms away waiting his return, perhaps an explanation; it didn’t matter they broke their rule of “Thursdays only”, that the two worlds collided so unimaginably... It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Nothing but a warm mountain of a man, pressed tightly against him, undoing him with the hot sloppy kisses and rough hasty touches, whispered endearments mixed with curses and oh, those fucking _gut-melting sounds_ he made as he ground against Draco...

And then he was suddenly lifted and transported across the room in one powerful surge and when he landed on a soft mattress, the redhead growled breathless, between two painfully crude and blood-drawing kisses: “I’m going to fuck you on your childhood bed.”

It was hardly a question, merely a statement of how it was going to be, but Draco’s long embarrassing “ _yessss… god, oh, yesss_ ”, came anyway. To have him here, where he fantasised about him so many times, never letting anyone between these very sheets because it would just be wrong and too much like cheating… to have himself sprawled and stretched from board to board, tense and aching for release; to have _him_ on top, the weight of his muscled body sinking his own lithe frame into the soft fresh linen, to have him spread this motherfucking heavenly scent of manhood and sex all over his body and his bed and his room until it was all he’d ever be able to smell in here; to have him, to simply have him… here…

Draco forgot all about caution.

“Ron… take me apart,” he whispered and when the soft hot mouth found its way into the crook of his neck, he got his wish granted on the spot.

“I’ll take you apart…” growled Ron softly, dangerously, the way he knew that could make him come on its own. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece… your innocence… your dreams… your childhood memories… your most private moments… this place will never be the same once I’m done with you, you beautiful blond bastard… cause I need it all to stand strong for you… need to take you with me… every bit of you… lock it in my heart… so I don’t forget why I’m there that bloody… motherfucking… Sunday… when you'll have me bleed for you in front of all those people… just to make you someone else’s… Just cause you asked me to… Cause that’s how wrapped around your little finger you have me… I love you, Draco… please… let me say it while I still can… I love you.”

And the sound that came out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth was not of this world. Guttural, broken scream-gone-sob and a stream of unconnected words he would never be able to repeat, because they meant nothing, because the only thing real and god-honest and true was this man made of his every dream, moving deeply inside him, hurting him, hurting his very core; branding him, marking him for himself so no one else could ever have him; making Draco raw and open and screaming in a symphony of ecstasy and heart-wrenching pain he felt at the realization that he’ll never be allowed to have him…

Every brutal thrust dragged out his forbidden desires, one by one, by their fucking hair, so it hurt like madness; exposing him to every neglected feeling he tried so hard to stifle and only ever ended up stuttering out for him to hear, to let him know how much he needed this, needed him, wanted him, loved him. Vulnerable, vulnerable and bleeding out his very core Draco thought he could never survive this so shredded and taken apart… until he was given something new… better… stronger... to hold him together. _Hope_.

“I’ll have you… one day I’ll fucking have you,” he heard him swear in his ear as he was pounding into him so hard that the blond was sure not only the bed, but the whole fucking Manor shook to the ground. “That’s a promise, Draco Malfoy… by Merlin and Christ and everything I hold dear, one day I’ll have you… I’ll come for you… and claim you… on this very bed… we’ll make new dreams… new memories… our own… favourite… private moments… I’ll make you mine… on this bed… and you’ll let me. One day…”

“Today,” Draco whispered only half conscious from hurt and pleasure and a heady feeling that he was allowed to be himself, speak what he felt, expose his fucking bleeding heart for this man to see, because he wasn’t worth more than what he felt for him right now. “I’ll be yours… today… and every other day… there is no other day for me… but every day with you… everything else is just in between… until it’s you again. There is no me… without you… Ron… I’ll marry you on Sunday… I’ll look at you and say those words and marry you, like I should… it won’t matter where I stand and who the fuck is there to witness that blasted travesty in white… it’ll only be us… I’ll marry you, before god and before everything that’s sacred… I can’t marry anyone else…  only… ever.. you… Ron!!”

With a howl that could wake the dead and shatter all their chains Ron drove inside him one last time and Draco literally exploded into darkness. He couldn’t remember anything, not one fucking thing of his bliss when he finally came to his senses and Ron was gone. He was left alone in his lovely ravaged childhood bed smelling of him, only ever of him and he leaned back on the sheets soaked in come and juices he had no name for... and smiled. He never felt more destroyed and complete in his entire life.

And when Sunday came, Ron was there.


	15. The magic of old

Father had come around by then, always the faithful Slytherin, flowing with the tide of inevitable, and smiled stiffly at the unwelcome guest he could no longer afford to ignore. A head taller than the rest, proud and absolutely gorgeous Ron Weasley slowly made his way towards them through the sea of people and Draco was struck breathless and almost dizzy with awe. He was sure Ron could not have looked more dashing at his own wedding. The silken red hair was caught in a neat plait and just a few fiery strands let loose, teasing down the beautiful long neck. Blue eyes shone with confidence and power and his broad shoulders were made for the elegant anthracite robes that were such an excellent fit that they looked as if they had been sewn on him. He was heart-stopping in his manly beauty and not only Draco noticed.

“Whoever is this stunningly _gorgeous_ young man?” breathed widow Greengrass, the mother of the bride, none too discretely into Narcissa Malfoy’s ear without even bothering to mask her acute interest. Draco’s mother followed her gaze and smiled almost beatifically:

“Oh, that’s my son’s partner,” she said in a appropriately hushed down voice. “They do Ministry business together,” - the word “ _work_ ” would never be acknowledged by Narcissa Malfoy – “I’m told he’s a brilliant strategist and very daring in his… business ventures… One of Arthur Weasley’s sons, you know the Deputy-Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley? A pureblood, of course… Very much married, I’m afraid and expecting his first-born shortly. Best friend of the Saviour himself, surely you’ve heard of him… Draco dear, would you care to make introductions?”

By that time Ron had successfully floated with the tide of people to the reception party made up of the groom, his parents and the bride’s mother – no bride at this point, the lovely Astoria was in the company of her sister getting ready for the biggest performance of her life. But the redhead didn’t care about any of them. He only managed to nod to Narcissa courteously and successfully ignore Lucius before his eyes locked on Draco’s and his soft lips dissolved in a sweet smile with just a hint of sadness.

“I’m here,” he said simply and Draco’s heart probably stopped. His brain surely did as it completely short-circuited and he couldn’t utter a word while staring into those soft-glowing blue eyes.

“Merlin,” blurted the mother of the bride, clearly awe-struck. “I dare say I wish I was 20 years younger, young man!” And only then Ron tore his eyes away from Draco, as if he finally realized there were other people present, and granted a still very much charming widow one of his full-on heart-crushing smiles.

“Thank you, Madam,” he said softly, not bothering to pretend the compliment was not meant for him; then proceeded to entirely ignore the protocol of introductions, because that was just the way he was. “Ron Weasley, completely charmed to meet you, of course. And you must be the bride’s sister, surely…” The naughty glimpse in his eyes told her that this was one faux pas made solely for the purpose of flattery, but she couldn’t help giggling like a teenager, much to the dismay of a seething Lucius and an alarmed looking Narcissa.

And the surge of jealousy and possessiveness that flushed over Draco was so powerful and unexpected that he could barely stop himself from launching forward and wrapping his arms around the redhead. This was _his_ man! The old cow had no business being all doe-eyed around him! And motherfucking Weasley! How _dare_ he flirt!? Now, here, when Draco was almost ready to jump him in front of the entire wedding party!? He was so going to hex him, he was going to…

He was only stopped from utterly embarrassing himself by the crystal chuckle of his mother’s voice and her casual calm words brought him back to his senses as well as it could be expected in the company of one Ron Weasley. Dear God, this man will be the death of him!

“Since my son seems to be taking his time coming up with proper introductions – and what other day should he be cut short of his wits, if not today! – perhaps it’s proper, darling, that you should have the honour?” And she looked at Lucius sweetly but with clear-as-knife _“suck it up”_ look in her bright eyes and Ron could almost see the older man trying his best not to choke on his anger.

“No!” said Draco quickly. “Forgive me, I was… distracted. Weasley, you know my parents… and this lovely lady here is my future wife’s mother, Lady Artemis Greengrass. Lady Greengrass, my… _partner_ , Ronald Weasley.”

What little ownership the word “partner” entailed, it was strangely comforting to the blond. Somehow this shy hint of connection between them was better, so much better than nothing, that he decided he could most probably go on. Until Ron slowly brought Lady Greengrass’ hand to his lips and kissed it softly. With his striking brilliant eyes locked on her face he said with a small tentative smile:

“Absolutely _delighted_ to meet you, Madam.”

And Draco’s vision almost blurred from a sudden rush of blood through his veins.

As the breathless Lady Greengrass  looked every bit ready to melt into a puddle, Ron let go of her hand politely and glanced as casually as he could at his lover, the innocent smile doing nothing to hide glint of mischief in his lovely eyes. Oh, the blasted redhead _knew_ , he knew _very well_ what he was doing to him! Those incredible blue ponds shone provocatively and there was a subtle yet daring invitation in the gentle tilt of his head... and Draco knew, he just knew it must be obvious to the entire world that they were fucking.

And with that thought Draco Malfoy almost lost the thread of solid thought again. He knew he desperately needed to channel the conversation into safer waters, lest he’d break down and pounce upon him here and then. His bursting cock and crazy drunken heart could only take so much of Ron Weasley looking as if he just stepped out of a Milano fashion show, flirting with another just to make _his_ juices boil with need.

“Where is your wife, Weasley?” he blurted without a thought to spare for anything else than how beautiful those elegant robes would look shredded and pooling on the floor at the feet of his bed.

“His wife is Hermione Granger-Weasley, surely you’ve heard of her,” whispered Narcissa discretely into the ear of excited widow Greengrass, providing a much needed cold shower. “If Lucius’ predictions are correct – and mind you, he’s almost always right – she’s the future Minister of Magic! That is one ambitious woman, I tell you. And smart!”

But Ron already replied curtly: “Hermione’s been ill disposed. Our baby is due in a month and she hasn’t been herself lately. She sends her sincere apologies,” he looked at Draco pointedly and the blond knew him so well by now that he could guess the rest: the redhead did not want her here, by his side, and that was that. Draco knew that Hermione, as ambitious as she was, would never pass up on the opportunity to meet all the European crème de la crème with unimaginable connections and influence that was going to be present at his wedding.

But unfortunately for her, she was married to a man that was the chess-master supreme: Ron simply knew how to pull the right strings to make things happen. Even if it meant spiking his heavily pregnant wife’s morning coffee with one of George’s most innocent concoctions and then subtly setting his over-protective mother on her with her “no stress for the baby” policy… And accidentally having her best dress ruined beyond repair on top of it. Whatever it took.

Ron was not sorry. He had long ago stopped feeling sorry for anyone caught between what Draco and himself held. His heart would have broken years ago if he had allowed himself to think about these things. All the lies to his wife, friends and family. A heart-broken Harry whose affection he desperately pretended not to notice for what it was. A scandal it would cause if what they had ever came to light. What they both stood to lose, if it did.

So he solved by simply not thinking about it. And he had no guilty conscience regarding the wedding. It was hardly even _his_ place to mingle with these snotty people he had to pull his war-hero status and pureblood ancestry on to be tolerated, but at least he had a good reason. Draco asked it of him and it was lucky, really, that the blond did not realize how much he could have asked and Ron would not have denied him. And this day - Hermione had no business being here. This was hard enough without her astute eyes on the set. She would have noticed… fuck, they must have been blind like a bunch of cave bats in the afternoon sun, the lot of them, not to have noticed...

The way he devoured Draco with hungry eyes. The way Draco kept loosing the track of his words when he simply stared. The barely stoppable tide that was pulling them together, pulling them towards acknowledging each other for what they were. This was a road to destruction. And Ron had to stop it; he instinctively knew Draco never will. The blond didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be here, to do this, to give himself up. So he called Ron to witness his defeat, hoping, perhaps, he would put a hold on this travesty, stop it somehow. But Ron had no intention to.

Draco was a Malfoy, he didn’t know how to be anything else. And this was what Malfoys did: they married the right woman, threw obnoxiously luxurious parties, produced an heir…. and fucked their poor undeserving lovers in secret. No, Ron would never rob Draco of being a proper Malfoy, he had a distinctive feeling it would come back and haunt him if he tried. This was a price they were paying for those stolen hours spent in their little Thursday heaven. Ron had paid his dues, now it was Draco’s turn. So he had to put a lid on this boiling cauldron of emotion before they both got burned.

“I think it’s best for me to take my place,” he said quietly, ignoring the disappointed look on Madam Greengrass’ face. “I have been keeping you away from other guests for far too long and I apologize for that. I suppose I’m not used to such grand occasions. I will see you later, Malfoy,” he finally looked at Draco and suddenly his eyes shone with unfathomable sadness. “When I see you next, you’ll be a married man, so... do behave. Don’t do anything I would do,” he said with a small tired smile and that lame attempt at jesting broke Draco’s heart with an unexpected blow.

“Wait!” he said hastily with a voice so rough as if hasn’t been used in a while. But Ron already turned away with a gracious nod to the rest of the reception company “ _Madam Greengrass, Madam Malfoy”_ – again ignoring Lucius completely – and headed towards the servant that was pointing the guests to their respective seats. But Draco would not be stopped. Not now, not with his last chance to talk to the redhead as a free man about to melt away, not when it was all about to turn to ashes and nothing would ever be the same again.

“Wait,” he repeated and ignored a cautious angry “ _Draco!”_ his father hissed behind him when he dove into the crowd to seek him out. He heard an apologetic “ _Oh, leave him be, Lucius, it must be important, I’m sure he won’t be long_ ” spoken in as light and conversational tone as Narcissa could manage, but he didn’t care anymore, he wouldn’t have cared if the whole fucking circus got cancelled at this point, he wanted to… no, he _needed_ to talk to Ron. He caught up with him right before he took his designated seat, looking every bit flabbergasted at the position appointed in the first row, reserved for the closest relatives of both families.

“Ron!” Draco pulled on his sleeve, breathless from running, and saw the redhead turn to him abruptly, those blue eyes boring inside his with no mercy and reading him thoroughly in all but a moment.

“Draco… we can’t,” he whispered as a response to what he read in his eyes. But for once the blond would not be swayed.

“Twenty… meet me in twenty minutes in my dressing room,” Draco blurted. “It’s only a few of them left now, I shouldn’t be too long… please, Ron, I need it.”

“But it’s your wedding…” Ron helplessly tried to introduce some sense of reality between them, but it was all in vain, cause they never cared much for reality, they were too hooked on making their own illusions.

“They’re not likely to start without me, are they?!” hissed Draco and that was that. The wild look of a cornered animal in those silver orbs told the redhead everything he needed to know and he nodded quietly:

“Alright, then… I’ll be there… but just in case you come to your senses, I won’t take it against you if you’re not.”

“Oh, I’ll be there, I’ll fucking be there…" Draco whispered in a heated voice and _“there’s nowhere in this planet I need to be more than alone with you”_ went unspoken not to scare the redhead away. But it was just as well. Ron knew. And a Gryffindor to the bone, he wasn’t backing away. So he simply smiled, a sad solitary smile that never reached his eyes, and turned away from his designated seat.

“This will have to wait, then,” he murmured softly and then looked at Draco from under his golden eyelashes. “Well –what are you waiting for, Malfoy? Your wedding is in an hour… and I was just promised some time with the groom…”

Draco needn’t be told twice. He snaked his way through the crowd and apologized profusely to the stormy looking Father, tight-lipped Mother and a rather confused looking Madam Greengrass:

“I’m terribly sorry, but this… it couldn’t wait. I won’t bother you with details, it’s all very boring and business-related and it most _definitely_ does not belong into such a glorious day as this, but I might not have a chance and nor the inclination to speak to Weasley afterwards… and this was rather important.”

“Oh, I see… but of course,” said the mother of the bride graciously and decided that this was as good a chance as any to obtain additional information on the stunning but rather elusive redhead: “What business are you in with the charming Mr. Weasley, if you don’t mind sharing? Perhaps I’m wrong but he doesn’t strike me as the type that spends a lot of time stuck in the boring business meetings, he seems more like… an outdoor type,” she tried to politely brush against all that incredible muscle and impressive physique one could just _feel_ radiating from underneath the perfectly tailored robes.

Draco saw the alarmed look in his father’s eyes and he was tempted… but he couldn’t afford to have his wrath upon him in moments like that, so he merely shrugged matter-of-factly: “You’re right, of course. We’re in the business of security. Highly prosperous field ever since… well, you know. Ron does the field-work and investigation and I work at the more… subtle aspects of the business.” He wasn’t lying, technically speaking, but from his words alone hardly anyone could fathom that they spent their days working as an Auror and a Healer. Father’s face softened visibly after that and Mother smiled brightly and it was only the longest fucking 20 minutes in his life keeping him away from seeking shelter in the arms of a man he came to crave so desperately.

And it didn’t help in the least that during the breaks between guests’ introductions he was plagued by ceaseless chatter and less-than-discrete questions by the clearly mesmerised Artemis Greengrass, who was anxious to know all about the mysterious Mr. Weasley: _“Forgive me for being so intrusive, but… we’ve been abroad for such a long time and I find myself quite unacquainted with the latest happenings and important individuals. Your mother suggested that your lovely partner is quite an important persona –where did you two meet?”_ and _“Where does he get his clothes tailored, I dare say they fit him so…”_ and even _“Are you acquainted with his wife? She must be a remarkable woman to have secured a husband like that!”_ … And on and on to what felt like no end. With that at hand, 20 minutes seemed more like 20 hours and by the time it was over, Draco was all but ready to declare himself unfit to proceed with the wedding.

Finally, _finally_ the last of the guests had been introduced and Draco couldn’t bear to think the whole tiresome procedure would be repeated once more _after_ the wedding when he has to stand with his young wife by his side, gracefully accepting the congratulations, the blessings and the wedding gifts with a fake smile plastered to his face. With all the superfluous traditions and protocol the purebloods’ weddings were _murder_ as it was and this one so much more so, because it was his own - and there was no way he could escape any tiresome over-orchestrated aspect of it.

But he would not think of it right now. Right now, he had somewhere to be. He offered a lame but believable excuse of needing to “ _freshen up_ ” and judging by the enthusiasm it was it accepted with, the rest of the reception party could also use a moment to themselves. With a whispered _“Don’t be too long, darling!”_ and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek by his mother, Draco finally fled what felt like the longest morning of his life.

As soon as he opened the door to his dressing room he was swept into a warm tight embrace and all the depressive weight he’s been carrying around him the whole day dissipated into thin air when he wrapped his arms around the strong embrace smelling of comfort and love - and held on for dear life. For once Draco Malfoy didn’t have it in him to pretend he didn’t need this. He felt as if he was sinking rapidly and his only life-line was the set of powerful arms, pressing him deeply into the personal space of the man who was here to save his sanity.

“Are you OK, babe?” he heard him whisper and when he felt a set of warm lips press softly against his temples he closed his eyes and wanted to tell him that - _no, he was not OK, he was never going to be OK, because he was about to take a step that will launch him down the cliff straight into the dark pit of life his parents wanted for him and that he was frightened and hating every minute of it... but that he would take this same step gladly with Ron by his side, fuck it - he would have taken a leap to jump off that very same cliff holding his hand_...- but the list of things he would never be able to tell him was too damn long and mere words just didn’t work that well between them... But something else did and Draco came here to communicate his frustration and his feeling of powerlessness and regret to the man his heart chose without his consent - the only way he knew how.

So he leaned his face towards him and captured those alluring lips with his own and let himself fall apart; allowed himself to disintegrate in their absolving softness, in their charging warmth, in their unabashed passion that always wound itself around him like a shield made of love and devotion and courage and all things Ron. He could be everything he ever wanted to be with Ron by his side; he could do everything that needed to be done if only he could feel his immense power moving inside him once more, filling him up impossibly, sharing that unfathomable bond that won’t and can’t ever break under anything life had in store for them. Fuck the marriage his parents imposed upon him, fuck the life that was charted for him since his birth – this was the only thing that mattered, that wonderfully tall, strong man he was able to call his own, if only in his heart, and who always seemed to find him when he needed him the most.

“Take me… save me… Ron,” he whispered and his words met no resistance, just a hollow pained moan that came from the tortured depths of a man, whose only crime was the bottomless, unconditional love he held for Draco. And when the hungry mouth devoured him and the smart fingers worked beautifully to grant him his much needed release, Draco was ready for him. He was ready to pay him for his devotion, for his hurt, for everything he had ever received voluntarily and stolen by force from this man who held his most prized possession, his heart – and wasn’t ever allowed to know it.

“Draco… beautiful…” Ron was dazed, crazy with the overwhelming sense of possessiveness, feeling as if he was standing bare-feet on the sharp shreds of his broken heart, because it hurt so damn much and his tears were somewhere behind the corner at all times – and yet the broken young man clinging to him so desperately made it all worth his while. That soft infernal mouth that was going to be his doom begged for more and when he was ready to go down on his knees for him, to at least do as little damage as possible, the blond all but knocked him against the wall and whispered: “No… not this time… all the way… I want it all the way… need to feel you… feel you inside… the whole time…  through this whole…damn… fucking… meaningless ceremony…  fill me up with your come, Ron, I need some of you with me in front of that altar… at least give me that.”

And Ron turned him around ferociously, pushed him against the wall with force and barely managed to get his priceless impeccable wedding robes out of the way before he impaled him on his hard leaking cock, no preparations, none needed, none required. On the verge of tears and at the same time filled up to the brim with spite and hatred for the life that played with them so cruelly, he fucked him hard, numb with overwhelming love and misery because he had no words for how he felt. In a dressing room, just the thickness of a wall away from the wedding that was supposed to take away all his dreams, he was buried up to his balls into the very man he was supposed to be losing, fucking him with brutal angry shoves into oblivion, making him cry and beg for more with passion, eagerness and abandon as if there was no wedding to attend, no sacred bonds to make, none to break.

And if he redhead didn’t have the presence of mind to throw some privacy charms around the dressing room before Draco’s arrival, the blond would have betrayed them inevitably: not for a moment did he try to contain the hot loud desperate sounds of need and desire and love he only ever had the heart to say in those moments. It was as if he didn’t care if they got found out and in fact, he didn’t. He didn’t want this in the first place - didn’t want this fucking wedding to that shallow porcelain stranger that knew none of him and was not interested; she was never going to be enough no matter how many papers he signed and how many children he sired.

What he wanted was his Ron, his passionate, wonderfully warm and incredibly sexy ginger that only had to look at him with smiling blue eyes and had Draco’s brain melting and his cock filling with need and his heart bursting with possessive hungry love. But he couldn’t have him. So he didn’t care. If they got found out, so be it. If he was meant to go through with this travesty, he would. Nothing mattered if he couldn’t have Ron. And when he was finally pushed to the brink of coming, just a stretch, just a shove from the monstrous climax that was building from the first time he set eyes on him this morning, Draco Malfoy pulled at the thin silver necklace Ron had on him at all times with brutal force and removed the ring from it with one liquid motion. Before the redhead realized what he was doing, he pushed it on his finger and whispered in a breathless savage voice: “With his ring… I thee wed… my love…”

And he came hard to the explosion of brilliant wonder in those worshiped blue eyes and a forced cry “ _Draco… don’t_...”, just a moment before the sculpted narrow hips he was riding buckled involuntarily and the whole massive body of the redhead shuddered with the force of his release.

Ron was lost.  He knew he shouldn’t be here, he knew it was going to be a disaster, that the whole idea was insane and preposterous and downright unhealthy; he knew he should be the pillar of sanity to the wild creature shivering in a post-coital bliss inside his arms, clinging to him so desperately, staring at him with devotion in those silver eyes that clearly testified just how much Draco Malfoy has gone off the track... but he couldn’t do it. His eyes drank in the beloved face, the soft mouth panting warm breath and all he could think of was:  _God, dear God, give us just a moment longer... just a moment, before it’s all lost._

Finally Draco launched himself at his mouth as if he could shut up the thoughts he felt fluttering in Ron’s head and there’s no saying for how much longer they would have gotten lost in each other if it wasn’t for the soft rap on the door of the dressing room and the voice of Narcissa Malfoy inquiring if she was allowed to enter.

“Just... I need a moment, Mother, I’ll be right out,” shouted Draco in a voice that was so calm that Ron would never have believed it belongs to the creature planting soft desperate kisses of goodbye and regret and abandon all over his face. “Just a moment,” he whispered, mirroring Ron’s thoughts and then he stilled in his arms and closed his eyes.

“Don’t forget... be there,” he whispered, exhaled what was left of his misery and inhaled the magic he felt radiating from the warm body of his lover, the strength he needed to go through the rest of this vicious day. When he opened his eyes again, Ron’s Draco was locked somewhere safely behind hard grey look and the son of Lucius Malfoy took his place. A few charms later no one would have guessed Draco Malfoy was just fucked out of his wits and was leaving his most prized possession behind in a humble dressing room. He opened the door, calm, composed, impeccable, as if cast in stone and offered an arm to his mother to hold on to: “Shall we?”

But Narcissa Malfoy didn’t move. For once the magnificent woman was on edge. Ever since Draco approached her with an unusual request to invite Ron Weasley to the wedding with nothing but “ _he’s my partner now_ ” in a way of explanation, she felt disaster looming over their heads. She knew as well as Lucius did, that having a Weasley at the wedding was just plain wrong – but she felt compelled to give Draco what was clearly important to him, because she couldn’t get rid of the feeling he was only doing this for them. It was clear in his disinterest regarding everything that had to do with a marriage that he did not want this for himself and as astute as Narcissa was, she was beginning to suspect that something other than mere unwillingness to waiver his freedom was under her son’s evident lack of enthusiasm.

The girl they have chosen, Astoria, was more than a excellent match – she came with wealth, unblemished reputation – her mother had kept her safely away from the war on the continent – and she was well-bred, a pureblood and about as pretty and graceful as they came. Even her temper was moderate and Narcissa was sure they would get along splendidly, as the young girl proved more than willing to follow her guidance. But nothing, absolutely nothing seemed to be able to make Draco more interested in the match and as the days moved closer to the wedding date, he became increasingly more edgy, moody and depressed. The only time she felt a sense of calm and joy radiating from him, was - curiously enough - on Fridays and it didn’t take her long to figure out that Draco miraculously disappeared every Thursday evening.

The situation was bizarre and more than a little odd and Narcissa was determined to come to the bottom of it. And was very put out when she realized she couldn’t. With wedding practically on their doorstep, she was none the wiser as to Draco’s curious disappearances on Thursday and his elated disposition on Friday. She would have shrugged it off normally as in “ _everybody needs some privacy to themselves_ ”, except her acute senses told her that there was some sort of danger to their carefully laid down plans regarding her son’s future radiating from those unexplained absences and she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was not quite right.

And when she met Ron Weasley, really _met_ him _in person_ , for the first time after the war, her every instinct screamed at her that she was right. Not only did he grow up into a breathtaking young man, whose magnificent posture and flaming hair had heads turning as if by a magnet when he walked by, but her son’s reaction... it was more than enough to tell her that _this_ , the young man right here, was the cause of her son’s irrational behaviour. For Merlin's sake, they literally couldn’t take their eyes of each other and even when Ron put on a carefully orchestrated performance of flattering Artemis Greengrass, Narcissa had a distinct feeling it had all something to do with the way her son’s eyes never left his face. Draco looked... _spellbound_. And from the body language alone she could guess his feelings were reciprocated by the redhead.

And this scared her. Pureblood marriages were not just ordinary marriages, they were meant to be bonds of heart and mind, nearly impossible to dissolve, the separation of such a liaison was unthinkable. And yet, here, her son was about to make one with the person that was clearly not his chosen one... In her books, that was more than a cause for alarm.

So she followed him to the dressing room. The closer she came, the more she found herself trembling. Almost by the door, she could still hear no sound, but the magic that pulsated from behind the closed and warded door was such, that it nearly knocked her off her feet. It was old magic, humming with charge and pregnant with unfathomable power, and when she cast a spell for detecting its nature, she saw it was rich with colours of gold and black spilling into each other, its glow venerating the humble door of the dressing room into that of a shrine. She had never seen such a dazzling mixture of darkness and despair on one side and glowing lustre of love and devotion on another, clashing against one another, the dark devouring the gold and the gold eating through the darkness like acid. And she found herself shivering because the last time she had witnessed something this powerful it ended up with a dead Horcrux and Harry Potter’s rise from the dead and since that day magic of such majestic proportions scared her beyond the point of reasoning. And by no means did she want to see her son in the middle of it, so she did the only thing that seemed sane: she tried to interrupt it by rapping on the door - and indeed had the colour dissipate as if it was only ever a figment of her imagination. 

But when her son finally emerged - tall and proud, with an impeccable cold elegance that seemed every bit cast in stone - and offered her his arm for support, she found out she could not go on.

“What just happened in there, Draco?” she asked and realized with surprise that her voice sounded chipped off and shaking. “Who do you have in there?”

But her son merely looked at her with his impenetrable grey eyes and answered quietly without batting an eye: “You know who. Nothing escapes you. Shall we?” he repeated, as if he wanted to distract her from obtaining an answer to her other question, but Narcissa did not move.

“What happened in there, Draco?” she repeated instead, as quietly and as adamantly as he did, determined to come to the bottom of this impossible unimaginable affair once and for all. And this time there was a crack in his marble façade, this time there was an echo of the magic she felt before; a glimpse of some wild dangerous passion flashing through his eyes when he answered bluntly, almost brutally:

“I left my heart in there, Mother, that’s what happened. And now I’m taking the rest of me, whatever little there is left, to the altar of your dreams, yours and Father’s: my name, my wealth, my lineage and whatever else is of that rot. And she can have it all for all I care, all the glittering worthless parts of me, all that and more - but not my heart…  I gave that to another. Because that’s just how cursed I am. Enough of that, you can’t break me more than I already broke myself, so let’s get this circus over with, shall we?”

And this time he turned away abruptly without waiting for her to follow, but she did anyway, hurt and scared and with a distinct feeling that this whole thing was going to turn into a disaster of epic proportions. She couldn’t have felt more devastated if he told her he was cancelling the wedding: at least that way she could do something about it, used her cool head to deal with the consequences, but this way she was reduced to the role of the helpless spectator as her son went head-on into a calamity. A lot of pureblood marriages were arranged, her own included, but no fool would ever allow two people bonded when one was clearly already given to another. There were other things at work at magical marriages, not only the rings and the beautiful clothes. She had a feeling she had interrupted something that will need closure at one point or another and it scared her to think what that closure might be.

But Draco was lost to her to pry with more questions. He had already walked towards his father with a fake smile plastered to his face and Narcissa knew Lucius would never know the difference nor would he care as long as he got his bidding. She loved her husband, but sometimes he was just as head-strong as a bull and plain thick in his stubbornness to look left and right from the goal he had set for himself. And Narcissa knew, she just _knew_ this marriage cannot end well. And the very knowledge that she had made her son so profoundly unhappy took all the joy out of this day for her. But there was precious little she could do.

She saw Ron Weasley slip quietly to his place, his pretty eyes slightly red, but his expression blank, as if everything behind the beautiful façade of a pale freckled face was dead, and she finally realised why Draco had insisted on seating him at the edge of the first row: this was a perfect position he could see him from his place at the altar. Sweet Merlin, he had orchestrated everything, hadn’t he? Just how bad did he have it for that young man? Narcissa felt sick at the thought this was one question that didn’t need answering: the magic she felt between them could only be interpreted one way: pure, unfiltered, undiluted love; the oldest, the most majestic kind of it. The most powerful magic of all, the magic that ultimately brought Lord Voldemort down and changed all their lives. Their insignificant schemes and feeble plans vanished into the thin air at its presence, this was what held true power.

And suddenly she felt better, more at peace. With this behind him, Draco was safe. Perhaps he didn’t understand true nature of these things, but wherever he went, this love will lead the way for him, and perhaps there was still hope for him to be happy. He had taken his place next to his father by the altar and cast what was just first of many looks in the direction of Ron Weasley. And the young man smiled at him, sad broken smile from somewhere inside his lovely eyes, but it had made her son straighten up and face whatever life had in store for him with quiet inherent force.

The melody that started announced the arrival of the bride and when the rest of the wedding guests turned to watch the beautifully adorned young girl walk down the aisle, Narcissa saw her son discretely pull at the thin necklace he always wore around his neck and remove something, keeping in safely tucked in his fist. And the eyes of Ron Weasley, the only other person that was not watching the bride, got impossible big and blue at the gesture. He must have known what was in that fist and Narcissa thought she knew it, too.


	16. With this ring I thee wed...

Ron stared at Draco in disbelief and barely able to breathe. He wouldn’t… would he? But the sad determined smile and the stubborn press of his lips told everything Ron needed to know. “ _I can’t marry anyone else…”_ he had told him, but he didn’t think he meant it; it was just pillow talk, wasn’t it, just something to console a broken heart with... Merlin, did Draco even know what he was doing?! The way he had pushed the ring onto Ron’s finger with wild determined look on his face; the way he planned this, seating him where he could see him, waiting for the bride’s arrival to secretly remove his own ring, for Ron to see... he must have known, then.

Some distant idea of what was going on was nudging at Ron’s brain, but he couldn’t quite remember... It was a story he had heard as a child, one of the old folklores passed among the pureblood families by the word of mouth... something about bonding of ill-fated lovers for life and beyond, about magic flowing freely through one soul in two bodies... but he couldn’t recall the details and he doubted it would make any difference if he did. He had given that ring to Draco and he knew what he was doing at the time. If Draco wanted to bond them together... Ron wasn’t going to oppose, he wasn’t going to run. Whatever the blond Slytherin was up to, Ron knew he wanted a part of it, his heart recognised it beyond doubt. He was _in_ this, whatever this was, with Draco, for Draco and he wasn’t backing off.

As if in a haze he watched the beautiful girl joy the tall elegant young man at the altar and beam at him with all the bliss of a bride on her most important day. And he saw Draco nod at her solemnly and give a small smile as if he was ready to acknowledge her eagerness and her beauty, though they did not touch him in any way. And his eyes strayed back towards Ron instead. The old Wizengamot official rambled on and Draco stared past his bride, seemingly into the empty air behind her back, but his eyes never left Ron’s face as if he was afraid something was going to give if he broke the contact.

And inevitably the moment came to exchange the rings. Lucius brought forward the intricately ornamented mother-of-pearl box most proudly, but Draco opened it with a blank face and removed the beautifully adorned platinum rings – Malfoys thought gold looked cheap - without even blinking. When they disappeared inside of his fist Ron knew without looking what was going to happen. He felt dizzy and disoriented and the fingers of his hand pressed his own ring so deeply into the flesh it hurt. He needed all the support he could get to make it through the following few minutes with his sanity intact.

And for once Draco’s eyes were on his bride when he produced the richly ornamented platinum band from the shelter of his hand and he spoke calmly and clearly:

“I offer this ring to you as a symbol of my commitment to honour and respect you.”

And not a word more was spoken when he slid the ring on her finger. No love was mentioned, no lies were told. And Ron saw it from the shock, registering on the bride’s face, that this was far from expected.

But Draco would not be swayed. With a stone expression on his face he opened the palm of his hand and there was only one ring glowing softly in the middle of it. For a moment bride’s head shot upwards in evident surprise, but Draco simply nodded encouragingly and offered a small reassuring smile – and she really had no choice.

From where the guests were seated, no one could tell this was not the twin of the ring adorning her finger, but it was the only ring she had, so she took it with a shaky hand and in that moment Draco’s eyes shot past her and landed on Ron’s face. The bride’s voice was barely audible when she spoke the words of tradition and slowly pushed the ring on Draco’s finger:

“With all I am and all I have, I honour you, with this ring I thee wed...”

Draco’s mouth moved silently together with her words... and so did Ron’s. He didn’t even know where the words came from, but somehow he knew them and he was saying them, one by one, as if in a trance. As soon as the words were spoken and the ring, Ron’s ring, slid on its rightful place on Draco’s finger, the powerful surge of old magic ran through Ron’s body with such magnitude, the redhead barely held back a cry. He saw a shiver pass Draco’s figure and he knew he felt it as well. The bond between them suddenly felt as real and as solid as if they were indeed bound together with ties they could no longer break. And for the first time, Draco smiled. A bright happy smile that lit his face from within and brought tears to Ron’s eyes and lightened the expression on the flabbergasted bride’s face, when he finally looked at her.

He kissed her, for real, and Ron felt his every emotion as if it was his own: elation and gratitude and genuine happiness. She helped him, though unaware, and it was only proper. Against the applause and the few solitary catcalls from the crowd the bride flashed a properly embarrassed smile and glowed in all her previous joy: perhaps it did not all go according to plan, but she got married into the most prosperous wizarding family of England and with her husband’s devotion carefully laid out for the public to see, she could now begin to count her blessings.

Ron collapsed back into his chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, pressing the palms of his hands so deeply into his eye sockets it hurt. He was on the verge of tears and he was fighting an impossible battle to hold onto his crumbling composure under a flood of contradicting feelings. Love, sadness, jealousy and _more_ possessive hungry love mingled inside him and a searing desire to elbow his way through the crowd to reach Draco, just grab him by the front of his robes and kiss him stupid for all the world to see was barely kept under his control.

“God...” he exhaled quietly. The silent drama had left him so emotionally drained he felt dangerously close to passing out. This blasted day… it was all too much… so much was given, so much taken away. He let his arms collapse into his lap and he watched his hands, his eyes drawn like a magnet to the platinum lion-and-serpent ring that seemed to be glowing softly, if only for him to see. His instinct was to hold it, protect it, hide it; to squeeze it tightly to the point of pain because right now it felt as if he was merely held together by its warm lustre. And then the ice cold hand touched him and found the stone pale face of Narcissa Malfoy staring down at him.

“A word, if you please,” she said in a barely audible voice and Ron got up and followed her, because really – what choice did he have?

~

Unsurprisingly, she took him to Draco’s dressing room, the island of peace in the commotion of the wedding, the very place where dreams were broken and made. The residual charge of their combined magic was still lingering in the air as if small sparks of love and hope floated against the dark background of defeat.

She turned to him and spoke the irrefutable truth: “You are bonded to my son.”

And Ron could find no reason to lie to her about it. She probably knew more about these things than he did. So he simply nodded: “Yes… yes I am, I suppose.”

Narcissa Malfoy simply continued to stare at him as if she was taking his measure and she finally tilted her head: “For how long?”

Ron understood the question the way it was meant and he answered truthfully: “Six years… or so. Six and a half, almost. You needn’t worry,” he added quickly. “Nobody knows, we were... we _are_ very discrete. Draco is most... dedicated and thorough when it comes to protecting the reputation of his family.”

A small hint of bitterness in his voice did not escape the avid senses of Narcissa Malfoy, but before she could react, another thought seemed to have entered his head and his demeanour changed completely as he pulled himself up to his full height.

“But if you’re here to put an end to it, I suggest you think again,” he said with a note of warning in his deep voice. “I... _we_ have sacrificed nearly everything to be with each other and I’m not giving him up, not until he asks it of me!” he said with defiance. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it back and forth, I almost broke my blasted worthless brain over it and I still can’t fathom why things are the way they are between us – but I can’t change it. I won’t. Not for you, not for anyone else. Only if he asks it of me.”

“I know...” His voice wandered away as if he wasn’t sure how to explain this to her, how to make her understand how important this was. “I know we’re bad for each other,” he finally admitted. “I know all those things you want to tell me, how unworthy of him I am, how inappropriate for a pureblood I’m behaving, how incomprehensible you find it, that he should be involved with me of all people... no wealth to speak of, no manners, no sophistication, a man... a married man. But it doesn’t matter, nothing does. Because when I’m with him, I’m alive. Here, inside, in my heart, I come to life with him around me. He completes me, he provokes me, he makes me smile and laugh like no other, he makes me feel like I’m a million galleons worth just by looking at me. I love your son, Madam Malfoy. Don’t ruin it for us. It’s only once a week...”

He stopped abruptly and turned away from her as if he honestly believed she held the power to come between them and he had to stop himself from begging her to let them keep what little they could have. And his head shot towards her in surprise when he heard her sharp crystal laughter. It was cut off as unexpectedly as it began.

“How much do you know about what happened here today?” Narcissa Malfoy asked in her usual impassive voice, staring at him through the wall of cold eyes he could not decipher. “Do you know anything about the ritual my son performed?”

“Not much,” admitted Ron. “I only remember hearing about it at my mother’s knee. I thought it was just a piece of purebloods’ folklore, the stuff the legends are made of, I never thought I would see it carried out… let alone take part in it... I... but it is real, isn’t it? I _felt_ it... I felt it so strongly...”

“Of course it’s real!” interrupted Narcissa Malfoy with a voice so sharp it could shred ice. “It is the most real, the most powerful magic you will ever encounter in your lifetime!”

When she saw him go pale, her voice turned just a shade softer and she spoke more calmly:

“It is an ancient ritual, from the times of pagan gods when pure magic roamed the Earth untamed, free of bonds of churches and beliefs. If you searched far and wide there wouldn’t be a book in public access on it and as far as I know the single written copy of the spell is in the Manor’s library.”

She saw his eyes go wide and there was a sudden tension in his voice when he asked hastily:

“Why? Is it dangerous, then? Will Draco be harmed? Will...”

“No!” she cut through his words again because she saw he was quickly losing his composure. “No,” she repeated more calmly and added, not unkindly, after a short pause. “And I thank you for thinking of my son, before you thought of yourself. I understand, as much as one rationally could, why he chose you, only a fool would turn away such loyalty. But no, he will not be harmed and neither will you, not as such. But you need to understand it, if you wish to continue living your life as you know it. This spell... it is complicated.

First of all, it only works for those of pure blood, no person with any non-magical ancestry can be bonded like this, the magic required for it to work, must be pure. I am not trying to say that the magic of those with non-magical origins is... _worse_ than that of us, the purebloods, I am, after all, not my deluded husband,” she said adamantly and looked him straight in the eye. And just like that, Ron believed her. “However, their magic has... _foreign_ elements, which do not work that well with this ancient spell. Perhaps they cannot even try – I have never attempted anything so absurd, of course, but it is entirely possible that if I tried explaining it to a person with... mixed origin, I wouldn’t be able to remember a thing about it. It is possible that it is protected that way.  Now to the spell...”

She paused a little and tried to take a measure of him. How will he take it? She knew next to nothing of him. She knew his parents in her time – his fierce mother, Molly, who robbed her - and saved her - from Bella, her sister-gone-insane, and his father, the resolute quiet and rather brilliant Arthur her husband loved to hate. But there had to be something about this boy of theirs. The golden-coloured magic he radiated made her feel at ease, at peace even and what really mattered - he already proved to her that he had her son’s best interest at heart. So what she was doing had to be right.

“This ritual was meant for those who never meant to part, not even in death. It is the only of its kind and as such simply called “the bonding”. It cannot be undone. It allows the magic to flow through the purebloods involved in it with no boundaries, essentially making them two bodies sharing one soul. And it can only be performed if they agree to it out of their own free will. Once it has been performed, they could continue to live their lives apart and yet never be alone again; they could feel the other person’s pain and happiness and their magic could join into one to make a force of unfathomable power. I could not separate you from my son, Mr. Weasley, if I wanted to, not anymore. But of course, there is a catch: there can be no _one_ person carrying such gift - when one perishes, so will the other. So you see, Mr. Weasley, all of the sudden your life is of utmost importance to me. If you lose it, I will lose Draco.”

As Ron stared at her with gapping mouth, she allowed a small smile to pass her lips: “I see this comes as a surprise to you. My son should be scolded for not asking your permission before he performed the spell, but you must have agreed to it on some level, otherwise it would never have worked and you said it yourself – you felt it. But I regret you were not given a chance to acquaint yourself with a full list of its implications and perhaps if you have given it proper consideration –“

“No!” said Ron quickly, firmly as if he only woke up from the reverie. “No, you’re wrong. This wasn’t Draco’s doing, it was my own. I gave him those rings, I couldn’t live with the thought I might be losing him, so I had them made and I gave them to him with a promise to make him mine one day. He put this one on my finger earlier in the day, right before the wedding and I’m absolutely sure he got married with the other one.

He’s... it is true, he did not ask my permission, but only because he knew I’d give one gladly. There’s nothing to be sorry about, he’s done nothing wrong. I _want_ this. I want to be tied to him. Like this. Like this and in any other way if I could have it. But I never asked it of him, because if I made him choose, perhaps he would not have chosen me and I couldn’t have that. Besides, it would be an awfully selfish thing to do. It could ruin you all, your house, your name... The Blacks are already lost to the world, and to lose the Malfoys... this was never an option.”

She couldn’t help but to admire the child-like sincerity that poured from those impossibly blue eyes. _This_.  It must have been this uncorrupted soul of his, staring at the world from the bottom of those clear eyes, that captivated Draco and bewitched him so. She felt its tremendous pull herself.  But Ron already continued, this time with an undeniable undertone of sadness in his voice:

“Draco has his duties and a life away from me, I’ve always known that. Merlin knows I wish it was different, that I would be able to call him my own in front of the whole world one day – but if I can’t have that, this will do. This is so much better than nothing, so much better, you have no idea... This is better than marriage, it means everything. He never says it, you know, those things that lovers say to each other, not if he can help it, they only pour out of him when he can’t stop himself – but he chose me to be _this_ , to be his chosen one and now he never needs to say another thing again. _Because I will know anyway_. I can feel it.”

And he looked at her with a shy smile playing on his lips and she couldn’t help but wonder at his courage, at his indestructible trust in her son, at hope he had no foundation for, permeating his every word. Yes, she could tell very well now, why Draco had picked him: this love, this hope, this _light_ he carried around with him made him about as precious as they came. She felt a rare moment of weakness to tell him, how precious she found him, but she stalled, knowing she might regret it afterwards – after all, the Malfoys didn’t trust words as much as they did actions….

But her musings were interrupted by his quiet:

“Do you think he knows? Does he know what he’s done, the full extent of it? Do you think he would have done it if he knew… if he _really_ knew? To be tied to me - _to me_ , of all people! - for life…”

This could not be tolerated.

“Don’t you dare sell yourself short again, Mr. Weasley!” she all but barked and when she caught the genuine shock in his eyes at this unexpected frontal attack, she added on a softer note: “Ronald… my son would never have picked you if he thought you were anything but perfect for him. He was like that as a child already. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on his robes – perfection, that’s what he’s after. Some of it, perhaps, is Lucius’s drill, but he was born with this stubborn streak in him to have the best of all. But I dare say he found it in you, why else would he cling to you so determinately? Frankly, I don’t know if he is fully aware what he’s done. Perhaps,” she shrugged. “My son sometimes surprises me when I least expect it. Perhaps he isn’t. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I, for myself, know I have no intention of mentioning this conversation to him and perhaps it would be wise if you didn’t either. It would… upset him to know I’ve been talking to you behind his back,”

“No, of course… I will respect your wish,” Ron agreed eagerly, clearly in no way interested in explaining Draco he’s been discussing their relationship with his mother of all people! “This… what you told me, will stay between us. And I thank you,” he added after a short consideration. “I suppose you didn’t need to tell me all that and I really appreciate that you bothered. I don’t think I would ever be seeing much of you, Madam, but for all it’s worth – I wouldn’t mind to know you better. I can see who Draco got his strength - and whatever else is good in him - from.”

This was about as nice a compliment she was ever going to get… from a Gryffindor. So she straightened her elegant posture up and smiled at him kindly.

“I must say that you took this very well, Mr. Weasley. I shouldn’t be keeping you from the wedding reception much longer, but please accept this piece of motherly advice before we part: take good care of yourself, because my son will be made miserable if you don’t. And another thing you should take to heart: my son is Lucius’s child, he is sometimes... _difficult_. But I have never known him to stop caring about someone he falls for and for you... he has it bad. I’m his mother, I know him, and I dare call what he feels for you “ _fatal_ ” in more ways than one.”

She smiled; a genuine full-fledged smile she hasn’t flashed in years appeared at the sight of his awed flabbergasted face, and right before exiting the room she turned around on a whim and said in a voice _no one_ would have attributed to the ice queen known as Narcissa Malfoy, for it was filled with dark liquid passion:

“Show him love, Ronald!”

And as he continued to stare into an empty space left behind her, he realized the most unlikely person just gave him the strength and hope he needed to get through the rest of this impossible day. " _Show him love,_ " she had said and Ron thought defiantly, fuck it, the day was still young, he meant to do just that.


	17. Everything hurts...

Everything hurt. Every bloody muscle in Draco Malfoy’s  body was cramped, his face was stiff from a perpetual fake smile, his robes seemed to weigh more than a hippogriff pregnant with triplets and still he could see no end to this blasted day. Oh, how he longed for a nice warm bath where he could lean his head back, just close his eyes and let go. Right now he’d settle for sitting down. Next to him Astoria seemed inexhaustible, receiving compliments, dishing out a million smiles, exchanging pleasantries and best wishes and accepting wedding presents with flawless grace and a glowing smile that seemed to have been etched into her young pretty face. His fatigue must have been showing, because every once in a while she would touch his arm and inquired something to the extent of “ _Everything all right, darling?_ ”- To which he would inevitably reply with a smooth practised: “ _Of course it is, darling, let’s carry on, shall we?_ ”

And all this time his mind has been wondering to one person, who had yet to appear before them. His eyes searched the crowd every time there was a short gap in the endless flaw of visitors, but in a myriad of people everything seemed grey and all faces blended into one. Where was Ron? He hasn’t managed to talk to him since the ceremony; not a single word, not a glance was exchanged; in fact, he seemed to have vanished completely. The very thought depressed Draco. He wanted to be able to talk to him, to see him, to draw his strength from him, perhaps to explain – because there was no way to misinterpret the look of shock in the beloved face as soon as their bonding was complete. He must have had questions; surely, he wouldn’t be _mad_ at him…. _Or would he_?

Draco didn’t want to allow his mind another step into that direction. The very thought was unbearable. Could Ron be angry because of what he had done? Could it be, that… perhaps…. oh, _sweet Merlin_ let not that be it, but… could it be that he didn’t want it?! Draco’s hands began to shake at the very thought of the possibility and his eyes picked up searching the crowd with renewed vigour. He could not have gone home yet, could he? Obviously, Weasel was a berk, but even he was not that much of a troll to leave the wedding he was invited to without a proper goodbye to the host!

In the end he had felt him before he saw him. It felt as if suddenly a warm cloud of magic danced closer and wrapped itself around Draco in all of its golden glory. He didn’t know if anyone else could see its colour, but it didn’t really matter - there was magical folk a-plenty around and anyone could have done that. Except it wasn’t anyone. It was him, at long last, and Draco instantly felt better. As it was, it became obvious he had been searching the crowd in vain because the warm deep voice, that got his knees shaking in a desperate desire to launch into a warm embrace and hide from the world, came from behind him.

“Malfoy, haven’t you got enough? Did you really have to get married to get your hands on more wealth? Honestly, man, your greed will be the end of you. Or, perhaps… was it to get your hands on _this_ lovely treasure by your side? In that case, you’re more than forgiven, just look at her!”

And all of the sudden he was there and the weight of the day seemed to have been lifted from Draco’s shoulders in an instant. For the first time since the ceremony the blond flashed a genuine smile.

Astoria threw a surprised glance in her husband’s direction – even to her it was obvious that whoever the guest was, he had an impact on him no one else did. But once she caught a sight of the redhead, she gasped unexpectedly and blurted with no reservations:

“Sweet Merlin, you’re Ron Weasley!”

The redhead merely raised an eyebrow in obvious surprise and looked at Draco in mocked indignation: 

“Malfoy! Take back whatever you told your wife about me! Sweet lady, do not believe a word of what he said. Your husband is a lying scoundrel of the worst kind and of course I wouldn’t have done any of the things he accused me of, not in my dreams!”

As Draco’s shoulders began to shake with laughter that boarded on hysterics of a very tired man, the bride blushed profusely and stammered:

“Oh, no, you misunderstand me… It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Draco. In fact, I’m pretty sure he never mentioned knowing you. It’s just… When I lived abroad with my mother, I used to read all the English wizarding publications I could get my hands on and they did have an awful lot of pieces on you and what you and your friends have done and… oh, my, this is so _embarrassing_ … I believe I had the worst crush on you in my teens!”

This time Draco could not help it, he knocked his head back and all but roared in laughter – certainly loud enough to have quite a few heads turning... But this was too precious! Blimey, perhaps they could make “ _loving Ron Weasley_ ” a family enterprise…  First her mother and now his wife! And that’s before he was even considered himself! But for some reason, he felt none of the usual jealousy, perhaps because he could acutely feel Ron’s confusion and embarrassment and because his wife – of all people! - just took care of the most entertaining moment of this tiresome event.

He looked at her, what felt for the first time properly, and had to admit, he could have done a lot worse when it came to a wife. Young and pretty and well versed in the pureblood traditions, she was clearly quite unspoiled and not without a sense of humour and a hint of intellect. Count it on his mother she wouldn’t have picked someone entirely beneath him in these matters. As a wife, Astoria Greengrass – Malfoy, of today – will do. But being everything and more one could have expected of his wife, told him even more how different and special it was what he felt for Ron.

He looked at him, once again, Weasley-red and on the verge of laughter, and more than ever felt like snogging him. Perhaps his life next to Astoria will not be unbearable, but it was not what he wanted. If Ron was to look him in the eye at that moment and asked him to take his hand, Draco would have done it. His wedding day or not, he would have. That’s how crazy about him he’d become.

But Ron didn’t chance a look in his direction lest he lost what was left of his composure. He covered his embarrassment by a short cough and said courtly:

“You flatter me, Madam! I’m sure our encounter will prove to be a most efficient cure to your misplaced affection... Though," he smiled with a naughty spark in his brilliant blue eyes, "I must say, this is a very _wise_ strategy on your part – I have never known a man who would not react to a healthy bit of jealousy with a fair measure of possessiveness! I can almost _hear_ your husband here contemplating many a-ways for my painful demise! Well done, Madam, I’m sure you would have made a great Slytherin have you been lucky enough to have attended Hogwarts!”

His eyes glowed as blue as flames with laughter and mischief and all the jealousy that was missing when Astoria admitted her crush hit Draco with a vengeance; more so when his wife giggled like a schoolgirl and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand as if she was aware she was behaving most unbecomingly, but couldn’t help herself. Yeah, the Weasley effect was clearly a factor to be considered with the Greengrass women…

But Ron finally glanced at him and a small provoking smile in the corner of his soft mouth left Draco breathless and with impossibly tightening pants… Bloody Weasel, count it on him to give him a hard-on with nothing but a smile… And it did nothing for Draco’s rapidly failing composure to have Ron unexpectedly take his hand and hold it in the huge palm of his hand, the thumb imperceptibly and gently caressing the pads of his fingers until he was almost swooning. Deliberately Ron looked at Astoria instead and said simply:

“As habit would have it, I have something for you Madam, for both of you. I’m sure you know our traditions don’t permit a man to give a present to a married woman, so please allow me to give both your presents to your husband instead and have him share yours with you.”

With these words he took two small packages out of his pocket and turned Draco’s palm upwards to put it in.

“You need to engorge it,” he explained. “There was no way I could have transported it here otherwise.”

The smaller, elegantly wrapped package had her name on it and when she opened it, she gasped in surprise. It contained a necklace, clearly ancient and even more obviously, priceless. Pearls, intricately intertwined with sapphires, shone beautifully from the black velvet background and her fingers shook when she touched it. But her breathless “ _Oh, this is perfect!_ ” was cut off by a sudden sharp intake of air:

“Where did you get this!? This was my mother’s!”

Draco stared at Ron incredulously and the redhead gave the tiniest of smiles:

“So it was. And that’s why I’m returning it to you. It is your heirloom, it is only right. Your parents, Malfoy, have reported a lot of things missing after the war and this necklace was one of them. It has been confiscated recently in one of the raids and put on the Ministry auction with profits intended for the War orphans’ fund. You wouldn’t believe what treasures are sold there for all but a handful of knuts because it is in someone’s interest that not many people know about these auctions! But not this necklace.

I am not a rich man, I never was, and before I got there this item had already reached the price I could never afford to pay– a number of people was clearly aware of its value and were bidding for it tooth-and-nail. So I did the only thing that was left for me to do: I pulled my war-hero status and had it removed from the auction as a personal favour. As it is, I now owe my best friend a monthly-pay worth of drinks, but I could not think of a better present for you, Madam.”

Astoria was clearly struck and not only by the necklace:

“Oh, but it is _beautiful_! Though I wish you didn’t have to go through such trouble to get it, I can’t thank you enough to have bothered! I’m sure my mother-in-law will be ecstatic to have it back in the family!”

“Indeed,” murmured Draco. The necklace was one of the few things that still tied Narcissa to the all but extinct family of Black and Ron could not have picked a more appropriate present.

But it was all forgotten when he felt the brilliant blue flames on him at long last.

“Your present is a tad more… personal,” Ron said softly. “The knowledge to make this is our family heirloom and it took me a week of my mother’s scolding and my father’s scary attempts at mechanics to finally get it right.”

Draco opened a rather large box and stared at it with no comprehension. It was a clock. Nicely laid back against the background of white silk, it was just like the one that hung in the Burrow, except this one had a beautiful black-and-white marble exterior that by far surpassed the original Ron’s family had at home. But essentially, it was the same. “Home” has been replaced by “The Manor” and “Work” became “Ministry” and other slight changes have been introduced, but for all intents and purposes it served the same thing. And for now it had two pointers with the names of Astoria and Draco on it and the third pointer was blank.

“For your child,” the redhead explained quietly at the questioning look from Draco. “So you don’t ever have to worry.”

Draco knew the gift was priceless, but the words to thank him somehow got stuck in his throat. All he desperately wanted was to kiss him and tell him to stop making him fall in love with him with every fucking thing he did, because his heart wasn’t taking it so well. Ron frowned a little in the silence that ensued, forever insecure about what he had to give and after a long moment he blushed and his eyes fell to the floor.

And Draco might have gone through with the oblivious hug and the snogging and fuck all, just to tell him how little he had to worry about and that this was a perfect present, really, and that _anything_ would have been a perfect present from him as long as he was here for Draco, and this one above all - but the situation was promptly saved by the bride who took the precious gift in her arms, though she could barely support it, and looked at Ron with sincere gratitude:

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I think of all people here you have put the most thought and consideration into your presents. This one will make us a proper family. I can’t thank you enough.”

Now and only now did Draco realize with what a heavy step Ron walked over his own heart to give him that. Like Astoria cleverly pointed out, this clock defined them as a family, told him and her and the world that they are one, together with their unborn child. It said clearly where Draco belonged in the eyes of the world. And his first instinct was to give it back. To push it away and told him he didn’t want it and asked him to at least label the pointers differently to tell the world the real story. But he couldn’t do it.

Not only did Astoria all but kidnap the clock and stared at it with child-like awe, showering Ron with a million and one question about it, also Ron’s eyes, who casually glanced towards him every once in a while when his wife wasn’t looking, spoke loud and clear of why he’s done it: this is what they were really paying for with their secrecy, their once-a-week-only meetings, their neglected, humiliated heavily-shrouded love they never openly talked about. _This_. His chance to have a family, to keep up the Malfoy name; to be in the eyes of the world what he was meant to be.

And he felt like crying and laughing and shaking the stupid world by the collar of its shirt and shouting the truth at it. But then it all would have been in vain, for nothing, worthless. All their attempts to keep their relationship private could have been ruined if Draco spoke and with it the struggle to give the world and the Malfoy family what was theirs. And Draco was tempted. _God_ , was he ever so tempted.

_“Put your name on it. Put your fucking name on it, Ron, cause it’s the only name I’ll ever care about. Put it on and tell her, tell them, tell everyone, who we are, what you are to me.”_ That and more was at the tip of his tongue - and his exhausted mind would have let him slip, if it wasn’t for Ron.

Perhaps it was the connection they shared or sheer dumb luck that made him look his way and notice the surrendered look on his face; the look that told him everything he needed to know about how close Draco came to breaking. He knew he needed to act fast, so he simply took Astoria’s hand into his own and brought it to his mouth for a perfunctory kiss.

“I’m sorry, Madam, but I believe I have kept you at this tedious task for far too long. Blame it on my brutishness to come as last and keep you from having a dance with your husband with mindless chatter! I’m sure you must be dying to take a spin around the ball-room as any bride would be. I’m afraid I’m a terrible dancer myself but I’m ready to abuse my privilege as a guest and secure at least one dance with you for later, I simply can’t let Draco have all the pleasure of the night.

But if you deny me... I’m terribly sorry in advance, but I’m just going to have to ask _him_ to dance with me as I’m sure no one else will have me. You see, I have quite a reputation of being a proper _troll_ on the dance-floor and should you leave me stranded, I wouldn’t dream of imposing my appalling dancing skills on another lady... though I don’t mind mauling Draco here a bit, for old time’s sake. We were quite the adversaries back in the school days, in case he forgot to mention it. I wouldn’t mind having a go at him if only on the dance-floor...”

His eyes shone with the brilliance of sapphires as the bride tried to catch her breath through a fit of laughter and he merely glanced at Draco, a Universe of daring promises in those mischievous eyes and Draco found himself with his heart beating loudly in his throat.

“Stop it,” he said faintly, not trusting his own voice to take him over the myriad of hopes and dreams Ron’s words evoked in him. “Stop embarrassing my wife, you terrible dork,” he finally managed, but there was no malice in his voice, just barely sheathed desire a plenty. He could _murder_ him right now for toying with him so...

But his wife’s voice, still breathless from laughter, cut through his dark musings.

“Sweet Merlin and Rowena, Mr. Weasley, who could ever stand in your way, I wonder? By everything that’s precious, I swear I haven’t had a laugh like this in ages... The mental image alone... _oh, my word_!  You can have your dance, by all means, I’m sure if your wife survived it, I shan’t be too damaged myself. However, I just might hold you by your word to ask my husband for a dance – the look on his face alone would most definitely be priceless and I might just beg you to do it, because I simply enjoy a good challenge! So what do you say, my darling – care to make your wife smile?”

She looked at Draco with big blue eyes, sparkling with laughter and innocence, and before Draco could reply, Ron chipped in, his voice soft and underlined with quiet danger:

“Yeah... what do you say, Malfoy? You wouldn’t be _scared_ of being too close to me by any chance? Even your wife wants it... I might leave my prints on your aristocratic bum, but I swear I don’t bite... _much_.”

And for fuck’s sake, he didn’t know how and when, but all of the sudden Draco was so achingly hard, he could only think about the blood pulsating at the tip of his shaft, demanding release. All solid thought left him and he could do nothing but stare down those provoking blue eyes, the lust and challenge in them charging him so, he knew he just needed to make the wrong move and he’d come right into his pants.

“Fuck you,” he mouthed his silent need and frustration, to at least communicate to him what he’d love to do to him right now, but as he desperately fought to find a way out of the trap set up by those sparkling blue gems, he somehow found his voice almost by a miracle, and blurted out:

“You’re on. I’ll fuc... I’ll dance with you.”

Astoria clapped with her hands happily and chirped:

“Oh, this should be such good fun! I’m so glad we’ve met, Mr. Weasley; if anyone, you can teach my husband to loosen up a little, I dare say he is so solemn sometimes it scares me!”

“Oh, I’ll _loosen_ him up alright,” said Ron calmly and just a blue flash under the innocent blink told Draco what he was really thinking off and he bit his lip not to moan out loud. “Your husband and I have quite a history of winding and unwinding each other spectacularly. But with this settled, I must ask to borrow him for a minute – I promise I shall return him to you unscathed - but some strategic planning is in place so your new parents-in-law don’t consider a blood sacrifice is in order for even considering such a tremendous indecency.”

And without waiting her reply, he simply smiled sweetly and pulled Draco behind him by grabbing onto his arm. He didn’t bother getting very far. He pushed the first door he came across open, saw that the room was empty, pulled Draco behind him and secured it with a quick sequence of well practiced spells.

“God, fucking god, what are you doing…?!” panted Draco, when he pushed him against the wall brutally and sank on his knees before him.

“Taking what’s mine, Malfoy…” growled Ron dangerously, before his head dug right into Draco’s lap and his face rubbed against the hardness it found there with no mercy, eliciting a loud helpless shout. “You had me bonded to you, you beautiful blond bastard, you made all my dreams come true, you didn’t really think I’d let you walk around like that, with that wonderful hot… hard… cock… calling to me… begging to be taken…. 

I’ve watched you, Draco Malfoy and I know just how ready you are… how badly you have it… all you need is a good lick… all the way from your tense aching balls… just like that… to the tip of that gorgeous bursting shaft leaking your want… oh, yeah… is that good, baby?… tell me, it’s good… God, I love making you scream… those fucking hot needy noises you make… I wanna fuck you so bad my balls are  _oozing_  come… but not now… no, not now… I’ll save it for later… right now… you’re gonna come into my mouth… deep in my mouth, baby… I’m gonna suck you in, all the way… from the tip…. to your fucking balls… and try not to come for me… if you can…. I dare you… to keep it back, Malfoy…  can you, beautiful?…that’s right… how’s this… fuck my face, precious… let go…”

“Ronronronronron… godfuckingfuckron… godmotherfucking… foul-mouthed… bastardgodron…. Please… baby, please… harder… goddamnyoumotherfucker… stop toying with me…. Want you so bad… give it to me….  Give me more… of that fucking… mouth of yours… Take me…  suck me… eat me…. Oh, god… now… _nownownow_ … ChristandfuckingMerlin, Ron!!!”

Draco couldn’t have cared if the whole fucking 200+ wedding party showed up for his surrender, when he dug his fingers in the beloved warmed hair and just exploded violently, letting go of all the fucking tension or all unbearable frustration, of all the secrecy and lies… _Because this was real_. This man with his insanely talented head between his legs working his magic was real. This soft mouth around his cock, milking him with no mercy, the strong hands holding him, supporting his weight, the tall figure when he finally got up and hugged him fiercely... All of it, _real_.

“Mother of god…  I’m a mess…” sniffed the blond when he could finally talk. Which was not right away, as he was completely boneless and stupidly happy inside the warm embrace, with no thoughts of the world outside of it. “Merlin, fuck, Ron… you need to stop doing this to me, man… you get me all crazy and messed up… I fucking forget my own name around you… God, you’re still hard, let me help you with that…”

“No, you don’t, Malfoy,” Ron swatted his eager hand away when it came too close to temptation and looked at him with dark hard eyes of midnight blue. “I told you, I’m saving it for later… I’m not done with you tonight. You’ll fucking dance with me when I tell you to, because I _own_ this beautiful hard arse now… you heard your wife - even she wants it… though I’m not sure she’s going to get what she expects to… And then let’s see where the night takes us. Goddammit, Malfoy, this is my bonding, too… you can’t cheat me of the main prize of the evening…”

And then the soft mouth began undoing him from the start, digging right into the tender spot between Draco’s shoulder and the long shivering neck and the blond released a most wonderful shuddering moan that almost broke Ron’s resolve not to give into his own beautiful blond god’s yearning and take him again.

“Fuck, man… I need to get away from you… you and your fucking expensive smell that has me hard and wanking myself before I even wake up in the morning… I can always smell you on me when I’m stuck between sleep and wake… drives me crazy… Merlin, Draco, how am I ever going to survive being bonded to you, everything is so much more intense now, so much more colourful, feels so fucking real…”

“Are you mad at me, then?” asked the blond in a hushed voice, already aware of the answer, but just wanting to hear the sweet truth from Ron’s own mouth.

“How can you even ask that, precious? You know I’d give my anything to be with you. I came here expecting to be miserable and I got this priceless gift instead…. Don’t you even think it… There’s no one I’d rather be bonded to, no one, you know that…”

By this time Ron was kissing him desperately, every exposed strip of skin he could find and make and Draco’s soft sighs were once again getting stuck in his throat and turning in to needy long moans and quiet little whimpers speckled with words of pleading and adoration. Draco Malfoy forgot where he was and very nearly, Ron did as well. If it wasn’t for a party of giggling ladies passing down the corridor, just the thickness of the wall separating them from the two desperate lovers, the redhead would have given into the quiet desperate pleas and just keep his treasure behind the locked door.

As it was, Ron pulled away from him abruptly, panting and wild-eyed and whispering “ _stop it, goddamit, stop it, Malfoy, we’re expected, you, if no one else will be missed_ ”. He rolled away from him and pressed his back against the door, their shoulders still touching, leaning into one another, but afraid to even look at each other in fear of tumbling down the road to oblivion. Ron closed his eyes tightly; desperate to regain some control, willing himself and his stubborn erection to calm-the-fuck-down, but it just wasn’t happening. They were close, too close to do this right; this terrific day and Draco’s doing erased some invisible boundary between them and now they were living too closely in each other’s space to be pulled apart, almost as if they were melting together, almost as if they couldn’t stand to be apart any longer.

“Fuck, this is hard…” Ron panted, afraid to chance a single look towards his soul-mate, because he couldn’t trust his ability to keep away, couldn’t trust it at all. But there was no getting away from Draco. His slim fingers slipped into Ron’s hand and he whispered barely audibly:

“It’s hard because we fight it – when we should just go with it. I hate it… I hate being apart from you.”

That was about the most sincere and heart-breaking confession Draco has ever made outside of their making-out sessions and it broke Ron’s heart to see him so cracked open and miserable.

So he squeezed his fingers tightly as if he wanted to tell him that he was still there, that he wasn’t going anywhere and that this night was by no means over yet.

“Come here, you silly sap,” he finally rolled him onto his chest with one pull of his massive scar-covered arms and just held him tight, breathing him in, revelling in the sensation of soft silken blond hair pressing tightly against his chest as if Draco Malfoy desperately wanted in. But that was all they had this moment. It would have to do for now.

“I can’t dance with you,” Draco moaned softly into his embrace. “I can’t. I know I said I’d do it, but I swear to God, if I you let me into your arms, I’m going to do something stupid in front of all those people… Not tonight, I can’t do it tonight…”

“Oh, but you will,” Ron smiled smugly. “There’s dance and there’s… well, _dance_ … Who’s to say one is better than the other? Here’s what we’re going to do…”

And after hearing him out, Draco told him about sixty times, that he was mental and that this is a sure road to filicide and that he better find a way to hide his father’s wand and call in some Auror reinforcement on top of it if he wants to live another day, but all his objections died on his lips when Ron captured them in one long lingering kiss and told him fiercely:

“We’re doing it, Malfoy. So help me god, I want to dance with you and this is the only way.” And Draco didn’t bother to argue anymore. He didn’t want to.

“You’ll be the death of me one day,” he murmured to himself and the redhead just smiled softly, knowing that perhaps, this time Draco Malfoy was more right than he realized. So he kissed him one last time and took a good hard look at him with guilty eyes:

“Merlin… I didn’t fuck your attire up too much, did I? You looked so nice and I’m such a bloody berk…”

“Shut up, Weasley. You know I’d let you fuck me up every time and in every way,” said Draco without a muscle in his face moving and it was about as nice a love statement as one Weasley was ever going to get out of one Malfoy, so Ron just smiled and shut up and watched him work. The blond was clearly a master of grooming charms – by the time he was done no one would have suspected that a single wrinkle befell the hapless robes.

“I don’t know why I bother,” mumbled Draco. “According to your insane plan a good portion of it is going to come off anyway…”

And Ron gave another infernal smile and whispered in his ear with a voice fit for a devil’s advocate:

“Just giving you something to remember… and anticipate, precious. Don’t be a big Slytherin baby and work for your pleasure!”

As it was, just the thought of Ron’s idea sent shivers down Draco’s spine and he kept his mouth shut and added a few finishing touches to both their attires.

“There, Mr. Perfect! All of this so you can go and shatter some more female hearts! I can’t believe you made me spit in my own bowl,” Draco complained and nuzzled up against him to collect his award and Ron was as enthusiastic as ever to give it to him.

“Let’s go… before your wife accuses me of kidnapping you,” the redhead finally broke their eager busy mouths apart, because this was going in the usual direction and it was just _not_ going to end well.

“Weasley, you’re a total and complete Gryffindor git… Oh, god… _just one more_ … Only you would bring one’s wife up while you’re busy sucking on their sanity… straight from out of their mouth…” whimpered Draco, but reluctantly let go, because he was in a right state already and that bloody Weasel just won’t stop looking like sex on two feet and he smelled like a call for surrender and a fucking orgy in a god’s body and oh, fucking Merlin, how is he ever going to survive this evening…?!

They barely made it to the hall when they were surrounded by a flock of ladies, all chippering happily about a million nothings and, oh, look the dance was about to start at long last when the groom finally found his way back to his lovely bride’s side!

With a pang of pain in his heart Ron had to admit that Draco and Astoria looked absolutely perfect together. Young and exceptionally good looking, well bred and splendidly dressed for the occasion, with proper manners and all the right connections, not to mention money enough and spotless pedigree to their name they were a fairy-tale couple and Ron was painfully reminded how little Draco and himself had to show for themselves. It was all so _wrong_ , what they had, what they were and he would have had a flash of doubt about his place in this world of riches and fairy-tales if from his spot at the centre of the ball-room Draco’s eyes didn’t seek him out and the tiniest smile told Ron everything he needed to know: that he’d rather be standing there with him, sorely unmatched, a terrible choice for each other, a scandal, a social debacle, a fucking couple of outcast – but with him and Ron smiled back, a quiet, devoted little smile, and gave his silent permission to Draco to be a Malfoy once more.

As tradition would have it the first dance was for the bride and the groom alone and Ron couldn’t help but agree with the wave of excitement, approval and admiration that swept like a breeze across the crowd of observing guests: their every move coordinated to perfection, the gorgeous white dress floating around the bride like a cloud straight from heaven, the way the strong hands of the slender groom caught her every time she spun towards him – they were a symphony of grace and poise and Ron knew, he just _knew_ if it wasn’t for him, Draco could have loved this woman. She was all a man could want from a wife and more – much like Hermione – and yet some evil deity laughing somewhere from their cloud thought that love was not for the perfect; it was for the neglected, for the lying, for those all wrong. But it was there and it was priceless.

Soon the rest of the guests were allowed onto the dance floor and – unsurprisingly to everyone but himself – Ron was all but ambushed with a very eager widow Greengrass.

“Ladies’ choice!” she chirped and smiled at him sweetly and Ron returned a courteous smile and offered his arm, counting his blessing that his mother all but violently threatened him into taking dance lessons before his own wedding.

“Oh, but you’re an exquisite dancer!” sang Artemis Greengrass euphorically, though – honest to God – she wouldn’t have cared if she had this gorgeous man’s footprints on her behind as long as she could finally feel that fantastic solid muscle moving underneath her hands and the young man didn’t feel inclined to oppose to a somewhat… _closer_ position than it was customary. But sweet Merlin, was he ever so breathtaking!

Those eyes… from up close she could see herself in them and they shone from the background of that beautiful freckled face like blue gems… She had honestly never before seen a man with so many contradicting, clashing colours to his appearance – and yet he somehow effortlessly made it look like it was the only possible, right combination. And that flaming hair… she could feel its silkiness caressing her skin every now and then as the loose strands touched her face and she wondered how it would look flowing freely down his back, possibly sprawled like a river of molten lava across the black sheets as a background to his magnificent naked body…

By Rowena and Morgana this man had some unholy sex magic to himself! No one’s ever melted her up like this before and she could almost feel her juices flowing as she pressed tightly against him, against that impossibly tall posture and all that incredible hot hard muscle and oh, that raw scent of a man…

“Excuse me, Mother, but I must interrupt… I believe I owe Mr. Weasley here a dance!” Astoria Malfoy smiled at the tall, confused looking redhead most blissfully and she led him away in one confident fluid motion, leaving Artemis Greengrass stranded in the middle of the dance-floor with all but a gawping mouth and fuming eyes until she was graciously saved from utter embarrassment by Lucius Malfoy who came to her rescue and spun her around the ballroom.

“Dear God, Mr. Weasley, I believe you have been untruthful to me…” said the bride a bit breathless after they’ve been around the ballroom a couple of times. She leaned into him with a naughty spark in her blue eyes and scolded him coquettishly: “I believe you presented yourself as a proper hippogriff on the dance-floor and yet – you spin me around like no other! Which leads me to wonder… what else have you been lying to me about, hm?”

She batted her eyelashes at him most innocently and Ron felt his mouth stretch into a sincere smile. He liked the little lady, the Auror in him sensed a sharp sense for observation behind the big baby blues and the girl was spot on… He was lying and he was about to lie some more, but he had practice… years and years of it, something no one would be able to read from his honest-looking face and he just knew she didn’t have the life experience to see through him. Too bad, it had to be this way, she was nice… But Ron had crushed other things nice under his overbearing love for Draco and this one, before him, was just another unsuspecting casualty, just another collateral victim, perhaps more important than others, but in the end – _in his way_. And nothing stood in the way of his feelings for Draco.

Without knowing where the blond was in the ballroom, he could feel him; his fatigue with this evening, his edginess and agitation that probably made him silent lest he be brutal and rude – unacceptable! – and his slow, building expectation as the need to be himself - if only for a moment and under a scrutiny of hundreds of pairs of carefully perusing eyes - got more pronounced and suffocating.

So he smiled at the lovely girl in his arms and looked her deeply in the eyes, for a moment stealing her breath away:

“I suppose lying is down to perspective… Perhaps I didn’t want your expectations to soar, because then I’d have nothing to give you and this way – at least you appreciate what little I’ve got, having expected nothing. I believe my dancing skills to be less than masterful, but I tend to make up for the lost grace by simply being… well, tall, if you like, most women like that,” he tilted his head as if he was testing the waters with her and gave a slightly devilish glimpse from the bottom of his smiling eyes.

“Why Mr. Weasley… I believe I just remembered why I had such a huge crush on you,” Astoria Malfoy blurted out and this time Ron’s shoulders shook with a genuine laughter. The woman was precious. Oh, what a shame… what a fucking _bloody shame_ it had to be her…

“So I assume my innocent white lies haven’t put you off your plan to… loosen up your husband?” he asked naughtily and unbeknownst to her, held his breath. There, in her mouth was the power to stop his little plan for the evening, she only had to take a good hard look at him and revoke her permission… and she would have robbed them of their private little celebration, of their tiny personal ceremony to celebrate their union right under the unsuspecting eyes of hundreds.

But in the end he was right about her: she didn’t have the life-experience to see through him and she laughed with her tinker-bell voice and nodded with a mischievous spark in her blue eyes:

“By all means, proceed when you see fit, Mr. Weasley! I expect it to be the highlight of this evening! Please don’t tell my mother-in-law, but I find glamorous events following _every_ tradition just a tad… _boring_ , don’t you agree?”

“So - shall I leave my life in your capable hands and trust you to save me if your parents-in-law consider ending my miserable existence for disrupting their most _traditional_ event with my antics?”

Once more she laughed with all the openness and innocence of youth and Ron felt as if he betrayed her and betrayed himself, what little good and unspoilt was left inside him, for taking advantage of her trust and a tiny bit of crush she had left on him. They weren’t going to hurt her, he told himself. They weren’t. She’s not going to know something is off, no one is, they aren’t going to know how much more it means. It’ll just be good fun to them.

“Very well, Mr. Weasley, I shall take care of my wedding not turning into a bloodbath. I will talk to my mother-in-law about it, she seems more reasonable of the two. Just give me a minute.”

And Ron watched her go for a moment longer, only as long as it was polite and not long enough to be picked up by another eager admirer, before he turned around and went to fetch the main prize of the evening. He had no intention of letting go.


	18. Give me more...

“Madam Malfoy...”

“I told you, Astoria, it is perfectly fine to call me Mother now. We’re both married to Malfoys as of today and it _can_ get confusing pretty quickly,” Narcissa smiled kindly to her daughter-in-law and saw her somewhat tense features relax.

“Mother...” the word didn’t slide quite smoothly from the young girl’s tongue, but she obeyed and Narcissa always appreciated the effort. “I believe I’ve got a confession to make. I’ve been... naughty.”

“Oh... whatever is the matter, darling? Do share, you intrigue me so...” Narcissa raised her eyebrow and looked at her inquiringly. Surely, the girl was too innocent to have done something entirely stupid...

“You see, I was having a conversation with the lovely Mr. Weasley when he came to present his wedding presents and he is the most _charming_ man and such a humorous personality – I don’t know how Draco and himself ever get along, they are such alarming opposites – and I might have been persuaded to allow for _a little jest_ for tonight... You know, just to lighten to mood a tiny bit, since it has all been so solemn and... lovely, of course, it is an absolutely dream-like wedding, I could not have hoped for anything better, but... Oh, you know your son, he is always so stern and serious and well, we do not know each other that well yet and perhaps he’s just a tad reserved around me... But when he’s around Mr. Weasley... that man has some sort of power over him, something that makes my husband relax and mellow out a little...

Anyway, when Mr. Weasley suggested he was too awkward on the dance-floor to actually invite a lady to have a spin with him in fear of incapacitating her – a most shameless lie, as it turns out - but he might be persuaded to ask your son to dance with him instead – apparently to settle an old score or two from their past... I’m sorry, but I found it to be such a hilarious image, I still do, that I’m afraid I might have _pressed_ my husband a little into agreeing - all in the sense of some harmless good fun! - and when Mr. Weasley presented the idea to him as a bit of a... _challenge_ – much to my surprise, your son agreed and I suppose what I’m trying to say is...”

Astoria inhaled deeply to break the news to the ice-queen she was supposed to call Mother, but before she could utter the words Narcissa interrupted:

“Are you saying you agreed to my son and Mr. Weasley sharing a dance, child?”

Her crystal eyes were so impenetrable, Astoria’s heart sank and she nodded miserably.

“Yes... I believe I might have.”

And Narcissa simply continued to stare, the thoughts behind the mask of her marble face incomprehensible to anyone but herself.

_Well, well, well... it seems that Ronald Weasley was a very resourceful individual, very resourceful individual indeed! His reputation to be a master strategist was apparently well-deserved... How very interesting! How very manipulative and conniving of him! That boy was entirely wasted in Gryffindor!_

But she realized that Astoria must have been expecting some kind of reaction from her, as she seemed to be holding her breath and she finally blurted: “Oh, please don’t tell me I have made a spectacular blunder! I didn’t mean to, honestly, it was just supposed to be some good fun...!”

“And so it is going to be!” Narcissa finally smiled reassuringly, and one could almost hear a “ _thump_ ” when a big stone of distress rolled off the bride’s heart. “Personally, I can’t wait to see my son trying to dance with a man and attempting to hang on to his precious composure at the same time. I’m sure it will be a sight well worth seeing... and it should suffice to teach him to resist responding to inappropriate challenges Mr. Weasley is infamous for! But thank you for a fair warning, my darling, I think I might have _fainted_ should I encounter the sight unprepared!”

Though Astoria quietly thought that a thing has yet to be fabricated or a creature spawned that would make Narcissa Malfoy _faint_ – she was too over the moon to have secured her approval to be particular about her mother-in-law’s choice of words. She sought out the nearest house-elf instead and told him to relate a message to Mr. Weasley that it was alright to proceed and that a danger of his instant demise was no longer present. From afar she caught a bright smile he flashed when the house-elf delivered her message and she saw him lean his head down a fraction – he had to do that for everybody, because he was so spectacularly tall – and whisper something into her husband’s ear. And then the most curious thing happened; Draco’s face lit up with a smile that almost stopped her heart, even across the ball-room. She could only hope to ever be able to charm such a smile onto his face, it changed his solemn features so, made him look younger, impossibly pretty and oh, so _alive_ …

And then it happened: it was just a tiny gesture of intimacy, but suddenly her breath hitched and she began to wonder… Ron Weasley had picked up a loose strand of long blond hair, which stubbornly escaped from Draco’s plait and tucked it behind his ear – before he turned around casually and walked away to talk to the musicians. And everything changed. Perhaps his fingers lingered a fraction of a second too long pressed along her husband’s face, perhaps it was the fact that Draco did not bat his hand away, but simply allowed the gesture, as if it was made a thousand times before - and tilted his head almost imperceptibly towards the palm of Ron Weasley’s hand as he looked at him, his eyes glowing silver… It happened and it changed everything.

All of the sudden Astoria felt her heartbeat in her throat and she desperately wanted to run after the tall redhead and tell him that _no, he can’t dance with her husband_ , because she had changed her mind, because he was dangerous and because he made her husband do things she’d never have expected the cool-headed man to do and because there was something… _something_ between them, something in that simple gesture that shouldn’t be there and because all of the sudden, she was afraid…

But she knew that would have been entirely stupid and pointless and rude – unacceptable! – so all she could do now was to sit next to her two Mothers helplessly and stare at the two men miserably, with an inevitable sense of catastrophe hanging above her head.

A swirl of excited whispers swept across the hall when the candles dimmed considerably… and head of Lucius Malfoy snapped up from conversation he was having with Artemis Greengrass and he frowned in apparent displeasure – only to have his wife calmly bring her hand down on his forearm, pressing ever so slightly. “ _Calm down_ ” that hand said and Lucius heard it as if it was spoken out loud. He had no choice, the hand was saying, and over the years he had learned to follow it, no questions asked.

And then there were drums. Their sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, and they were loud and rhythmical, charging the air impossibly with the ancient primal sound. They permeated the room with their hard reverberating rhythm, setting up a hypnotic pace and Astoria recognised the unforgettable sound from her travels with mother: it was a background to Capoeira, a Brazilian martial art and  - unbeknownst to her – the latest training regime for Aurors under Harry Potter’s lead. The Head Auror had learnt to appreciate its uses during his visits of magical academies around the world and once he returned, he introduced the routine as a means of achieving physical fitness and coordination among the paired partners. The ability to act as one was often the one decisive factor that separated a successful team from a dysfunctional one on the field. It could also mean the difference between life and death.

But none of it mattered to a crowd of awed spectators when two figures appeared on the opposite sides of the dance-floor. As they approached each other in a string of cautious movements, they slowly began removing their robes… first the outer coat… then the vest… followed by a bow-tie… and – to the background of a loud gasp from the crowd – the shirts. And when with a casual movement of his wand the Senior Auror Ronald Weasley had their feet bare, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley faced each other all but an arm’s length apart in nothing but perfectly tailored trousers and a set of cummerbunds - red for the Gryffindor and green for the Slytherin. Their wands were the last to go, the powerful pulse surging between them made any other magic unimaginable, unnecessary.

Astoria’s breath hitched when she watched her husband’s lean body face a perfectly sculpted torso of Ron Weasley. She had never seen her husband shirtless before and she hadn’t realized how muscled... and flawlessly beautiful he was. But that Weasley man... Dear God, _that_ man was a beast! His massive arms were covered in scars – but so was his chest, his flat muscular stomach and an impossibly wide tattooed back, with a dreadful crimson dragon swirling and puffing dangerously up his neck. And when the light of the candles flickered with their combined magic, she discovered -much to her surprise - that Draco’s upper body sported quite a few of the scars as well. She realized how little she knew of him - what _on Earth_ could have earned her impeccable husband such a hefty load of bodily marks?!

But all her thoughts disappeared when suddenly Ron Weasley extended his arm in front of him and her husband replicated his gesture immediately. Their constricted fists slammed together by their knuckles and held contact as they continued to stare straight into each other’s eyes. Against the charging beat of the drums the tension between them was almost palpable and then their fingers slipped into each other's space and intertwined… For a moment there Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy held each other by the tension of their arms and by their joint fists as a testimony of some unspoken trust and union – and then they tore apart and moved as one.

The way they suddenly surged against each other was almost too fast for the eye to follow, but it was clear they were synchronised in the way no casual encounter would allow. With one whirling shift of his massive arms Ron practically propelled Draco across the room, but the blond landed on his feet like a wild cat and launched his attack against him without a second of delay. With his motion nothing but a blur his legs wrapped around Ron’s neck and he flipped him over by a sheer force of his movement as he was a stone or two lighter. And when he ended up kneeling on top of Ron’s chest, pinning his arms down by his wrists, he smiled most ferally – and the redhead smiled right back. A dangerous dead-sexy focused smile that served as the only warning when his knees squeezed painfully around Draco’s chest, momentarily robbing him of air and Ron knocked him backwards with one brutal blow of his foot.

At that point Narcissa’s hand dug deeper into Lucius’s forearm as if she realized how much force it took to curb his reflex to get up and interfere. That… _Weasley_ had his son pinned down underneath his ton of muscle and he was smiling straight into his face and the world has gone mad and off its track, because Draco was smiling right back and didn’t seem to mind pressing a sweaty naked body against that beast.

 _“Ohhhh….”_ Only a shudder and a barely suppressed sigh of pure ecstasy made Lucius aware of other people present and with a barely masked disgust he glanced at the widow Greengrass, who was shamelessly staring open-mouthed and completely enthralled at two barely decent bodies flying through the air as if they were weightless and then reconnecting and locking into a deadly grip that had them writhing against each other on the floor against the pregnant rhythm of drums.

Draco was on top at the moment and he threw his head back to evade large hands closing around his neck, his stretched torso offering a splendid sight of passion and surrender – another pained “ _ohhh_ ”, by Artemis Greengrass - and when Lucius glanced around the room wild-eyed he noticed that it was not merely his lusting neighbour who was mesmerised by the performance... The entire female population of the esteemed guests –  and not only a few men! – was staring with gapping mouth and unblinking eyes at the two gorgeous young men fighting and playing in their midst. His own wife's crystal orbs seemed locked on the two bodies moving in a perfect symphony of well-practiced movements and for a moment there he thought he saw that wild Black flare flash in her eyes that only appeared in their most private moments.

The melee of fighting and dancing moves grew progressively more brutal and uncompromising as if the two young men drew their power out of the steady raw rhythm of drums and slowly the air became pregnant with an undeniable thick element of bone-melting carnal charge that got the ladies sitting on the edges of their chairs and grip them tightly. There was something in their combined magic that no one could put a finger on, but it left no doubt in anyone’s mind that the fire and ice clashed on the dance-floor in some long overdue combat and they absolutely _loved_ consuming each other. The heaving chests, the intense focused looks locking on opponent and oh, those betraying infernal smiles spoke volumes of how much Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley enjoyed their encounter and how very in tune they’ve become during their little game.

“Oh, but they’re _beautiful_ together…” sighed Artemis Greengrass deeply, clearly beside herself and Lucius had a distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the woman was enjoying herself a little too much for his liking. This was _his son_ , for Merlin’s sake! His _only_ _son_ , the groom, rolling around at his own wedding, _half naked_ with another man – with a _Weasley_ , of all people! – getting punched, thrown around, abused and strangled by him, harassed and… well, it was all right and pretty damn obvious that the blasted son of Arthur’s wasn’t _really_ after Draco, but did he honestly have to rub his huge brutish hands all over him, making it seem as if he was caressing him most indecently? And oh, that stupid son of his and the dreamy half-dazed smile he wore gave him every permission to…

The beating of drums has intensified and was clearly approaching its climax when the two young men parted and circled around each other as if they were getting ready for the final attack. Draco launched at Ron first, but the redhead slipped to his knees in the last moment’s attempt at evasion, so the blond merely rolled across his broad back and with one lightning-speed move the redhead’s arm caught at his waist, turned him around with the force of the pull and crashed him down on top of his own knees. Draco Malfoy thighs slid around Ron’s waist, closing around it tightly and Ron’s arm snaked its way into Draco’s long blond dishevelled hair for support and tilted his head back to stare down his face. Their naked heaving chests aligned in the very moment the violent beat of the drums stopped abruptly.

In complete silence they looked frozen like some blasphemous debauched deities of the past, their panting upper-bodies shimmering in sweat, mouth just a sweet hot breath apart, their eyes submerged so deeply into one another’s orbs as if they somehow became one entity, breathing with one breath, sharing the same mind, their pumping heartbeats jumping at each other to join through their chests. They were a picture of decadence, unity and chaos all in one. They were all wrong and everything right and they had no business looking so exquisitely perfect together.

So close it _hurt_ not to touch him, Ron’s warm breath mingled with that of his lover as he stared deeply into the silver expanse of Draco Malfoy’s eyes, scattered with a million stars lit just for him... and the soft mouth moved in a whisper, begging in child-like reverence and desperate love:

“ _More_... Draco... I need more... Give me more...”

And with what was left of his sanity the blond did the only thing that allowed him to preserve the illusion they had worked so hard to build; the only thing that stood between revealing the boiling unforgivable love bursting his heart open to everyone present: he sank his fingers deeply into the flaming hair he was drawn to like a magnet and disapparated them both.

A Universe away from the prying eyes they apparated into the virgin privacy of his master bedroom, where the solitary wedding bed awaited the lovers’ arrival.


	19. Come to me

They left behind a cacophony of excited screams and confused noises and Lucius Malfoy finally shook off his wife’s hand and stood up to hiss at her:

“What _was_ this!? How _could_ he?! And _you_....!!! I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me do something about this sickening joke of a performance! Have you _both_ gone mad, your deluded son and you with him?! What a scandal, what a disgrace! With this rate we’ll be lucky if anyone remembers there was a wedding at all!”

“I should very much like you to calm down,” his wife said almost matter-of-factly, without bothering to stand up. “Your raging about is only going to grant us more unwanted attention.”

Fuming, but recognising the truth behind his wife’s words, Lucius Malfoy collapsed back on a chair next to her and hissed in a more quiet, but hardly any calmer voice:

“Explain, goddamn you, woman! What by Salazaar’s grave was that all about!?”

“Smile, my darling,” suggested Narcissa and gave a glowing example herself. “Everybody is going to be looking at you and if you smile, they are all going to assume it was all orchestrated and perfectly in line with the celebration.”

And though it felt as if he was going to break his mouth, Lucius Malfoy followed his wife’s advice and forced his mouth into a semblance of a smile.

“There you go, all better,” Narcissa smiled, but there was no laughter in her cold blue eyes, when she looked at Lucius sharply: “As to _what_ happened, I’m afraid you’re going to have to talk to your son about it. But _why_ it happened – I believe your new daughter-in-law holds an answer to that! According to her own admission, she all but begged Mr. Weasley to ask our son to dance – apparently it was meant as a joke – and though I’m not entirely familiar with her sense of humour, I’d say the poor girl just got more than she bargained for. Smile, Lucius, they’re still looking!” she reminded him again and somehow Lucius Malfoy found it in him to break out another casual smile.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, not hard at all! _Now_ \- I know you, husband dear, and I know how your mind works. You see yourself humiliated and this wedding ruined – but remember, people will often only see the illusion you want them to see. So, before you start considering retaliation and other... vindictive measures, I beg you to remember a thing or two: Astoria is nothing but a child, she has been sheltered from the world and she knew no better.

And Ron Weasley is a force to be reckoned with, I’m not in favour of seeking retribution against him. Have you ever thought about how did that poor Arthur's boy, with nothing going for him but a spotless pedigree, manage to capture and keep the attention of the Saviour himself? And that brilliant wife of his? I wonder what she sees in him... You’re well aware of my gift to see people’s magic and I’m telling you, Lucius Malfoy, his is _magnificent_! And as to our son...”

She lowered her voice considerably, to a point of mere whisper, but her words were no less sharp and clear:  “You know as well as I do we twisted his arm to be here today. He did not want it _then_ , he does _not want_ it now, but he followed through to perform his duty, as a proper Malfoy would. He is to be complimented, rather than scolded! Perhaps this was just a game to him - you know how easily he gets bored – or perhaps the last act of rebellion. What better way to get back to you for never showing any interest in his work; what better way to show some _spirit_ and get back to both of us for picking this life-path for him and making him follow it? Something happened to our son during that blasted war, Lucius, and for some reason, he is not the man he was supposed to be and he does not want the things we raised him to aim for. _But he has done it anyway._ For us, for the Malfoy name; not for himself, but _against_ himself. Now show some respect for your son’s integrity and cover for him, as a father should! Malfoys stick together, you always taught him that!”

And Lucius Malfoy got up without another word and said in a loud cool voice, as grey, slightly-bored and Malfoyian as it got:

“I’m sure my son will be happy to receive your congratulations for his excellent performance upon his return. Apparently this was a surprise wedding present for his own wife who wished to see… a bit more of him.”

He waited for the laughter to die out and he continued in the same tone: “I believe he will be back with us shortly, after a routine like we’ve just witnessed, even a Malfoy needs to freshen up.”

And he sat down heavily next to his wife, without looking at her and spit out: “Happy?”

“Quite,” Narcissa answered curtly and went to save another life.

~

Astoria Malfoy was rooted to the ground. The room was spinning in front of her eyes and she had to close them to stop herself from collapsing. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. She stood so close to him, she danced with him, for Merlin’s sake – _holding_ his hand! – and yet – she had completely missed it. But she saw it now. When it was already too late.

She stood close enough when a big palm of Ron Weasley’s hand sank into the silken platinum hair of her husband’s and brought him to a still, their faces just a breath apart. She had never seen two men, no, two _people_ look at each other that way, as if they were completely in their own world, as if they were... _kissing_ through their eyes. And a moment before that beautiful soft mouth she yearned for throughout her entire teenage years moved to whisper... something to her husband, something that made Draco’s marble mouth quiver and his hand hastily seek shelter in that molten lava of Ron Weasley’s hair and he mercifully disapparated them, before she could have caught more of that blasphemous unforgivable emotion surging between them – in that very moment Astoria caught the glimpse of _it_ flicking in the candlelight as if it was taunting her with its impossible lustre.

 _The ring._ There, on Ron Weasley’s hand was the very same ring Draco had her push onto his finger. The lion and the serpent wrapped around each other, locked into what looked like a mortal combat, but might as well have been the cursed lovers’ embrace. They wore the same set of rings. The implications were incomprehensible, impossible to grip and countless and her head was swirling with the weight of them.

Was she even...? Could _they_ be...? But that was impossible, the redheaded devil was already married! She could not make heads nor tails of it, but she instinctively knew this was _wrong_. Ron Weasley wore her husband’s ring. Not her, Astoria, he did. The ring that matched Draco’s was on his finger, undoubtedly put there by the blond himself. The way they looked at each other testified to that. You’d have to be plain stupid not to see they had it bad for each other. And Astoria, as young as she was, was far from stupid.

The question was: what to do now? What _could_ she do? What did she want to do? The evening and what she had just witnessed seemed to have robbed her of all ideas, of every plan for the future. It was all just a giant swirl of impossibilities.

“Sweet Merlin, daughter, some husband we’ve got you!”

Mother floated in, flushed and smiling from ear to ear, and grabbed her hand excitedly.

“He has got to be the most graceful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on! All those terrible scars, how very... _erotic_ ,” mother leaned in, whispering like a teenage girl and proceeded to burst a tiny hysterical giggle, effectively making Astoria’s stomach turn. “Oh, I wish I was so lucky! Your father was a fine man, a fine man indeed, but so much older and... Well, Merlin bless his generous soul, I shan’t speak bad of the dead. But he had nothing on your husband, nothing at all; that much I _am_ willing to say!”

“And that other man! Oh... that _other_ man....” Artemis Greengrass collapsed back into the chair next to her daughter and closed her eyes as if she tried to recall the mesmerising face she became all but obsessed with. “Ronald Weasley... He’s just... gorgeous... gorgeous and perfect... I have never seen so splendid a-man in my life! Those piercing eyes... all fire inside the blue... and that river of flaming hair... silken... glittering... like with the gods of old... Oh, Sweet Morgana, I believe he had made a poet out of me! And don’t you even start me on that all that _impossible_ muscle – I didn’t know one could have so much of it! And did you see how that enchanted dragon on his back moved fiercely along with him? Dear god, I’ve never seen so much strength and magic in one man! And the passion he radiates... even your husband was infected with it!”

 _“Because it is all for him!”_ Astoria wanted to scream at her stupid deluded blind mother. _“It’s all for my husband, all for Draco - and everything Draco is and everything Draco has is for that man, for him, for Ron Weasley. Not for me. Never for me.”_

She had wondered why his lips moved in a silent oath along with her words during their matrimonial service without even looking at her... and now she knew. She was willing to bet everything she owned that Ron Weasley was sitting behind her, in Draco’s sight, and Draco had made his oath to him. It could be no other way. There _was_ no other way for ill-fated lovers... _Ill-fated lovers_ ... the words nudged at her brain and there was an elusive distant memory of a story... a legend... she couldn’t quite remember... there was something about those words that she just _knew_ she should know, because it had something to do with what she witnessed today.

“I wonder when they’ll be back,” Artemis Greengrass rambled on. “I should very much like to ask Mr. Weasley for another dance, as you so rudely interrupted our first one! Oh, well, Lucius said they should be back soon, so I suppose there’s not much else to do but wait. What a lovely contrast they are, Mr. Weasley and your husband. Like fire and ice, appearance and character alike. What a pair! I wonder if they are truly old adversaries as Lucius would have me believe... all their bickering aside, they _did_ look awfully comfortable around one another. But I suppose if they’re partners...”

“They’re...” Astoria interrupted feverishly, but the word “ _lovers_ ” just wouldn’t leave her mouth, as if she knew that once it was spoken out, it had the power to change everything. And she had no strength and no compass to face the chaos that lay on the other side of that word. 

“They are indeed old adversaries,” a cool voice of Narcissa Malfoy casually cut through their conversation. “I don’t believe they were ever given a chance at anything else, really. You see, the Weasleys and the Malfoys have a bit of a tradition upholding… _mutual dislike_ , shall we say, if perhaps hatred sounds like too harsh a word. A centuries old tradition, to be precise. Ronald and my son are actually the first ones in generations to stand in the same room and draw the same air without engaging in some sort of conflict. I was not actually present myself, but I was told that Lucius and Ronald’s father, Arthur Weasley once got involved in a physical confrontation – no wands, just fists flying, imagine that! – in a bookstore in Diagon Alley. I would have paid good money to see that, I tell you! Lucius, pulling hair and delivering punches – unimaginable!” she laughed with a resounding crystal laugher that sounded as she was genuinely having fun, but then she unexpectedly laid her hand on Astoria’s forearm and looked at her with sharp intellect:

“But I, for my part, am quite satisfied to see Draco and Ronald put their differences aside. We’re the last of the purebloods, if anyone, we should stick together, not try to throw rocks under each other’s feet. And in that spirit, my darling, your idea of them sharing a dance was a splendid one! They are quite a pair indeed, aren’t they?”

Narcissa stared at her with her unreadable crystal eyes and under that not unkind look all the bitter accusations, all the frustration of this day, that was supposed to be her finest, the impossible anger with her own stupidity and heavy sadness soaking her through at the revelation of how shamelessly deceived she had been – all of it got burnt straight into her throat and she couldn’t utter a word, when she should be screaming from the top of her lungs.

“I…” she tried, but nothing more came out and she got up abruptly instead and fled to at least hide her shame, shed the desperate tears of undeserved humiliation and betrayal somewhere far away from the world that had cheated her so cruelly. But there was no escaping Narcissa Malfoy. The woman followed her as persistently and as mercilessly as the tide and stopped behind her, watching her shoulders shake with bitter impotent sobs. Only when it seemed there was going to be no end to them, she slowly put her elegant hand on the girl’s delicate shoulder and squeezed lightly as if she was offering quiet support of someone who _knew_ ; the only one person who could have possibly understood what it had meant to be married to a Malfoy and could truly sympathise with what she was going through.

And in that moment Astoria felt the connection with that strange woman like she never felt one to her own mother, because it was Narcissa that followed her and not the shallow, negligent Artemis Greengrass – no, it was that woman, who was supposed to be cold and without compassion, but had still come after her because she considered her a part of her family and this is what the Malfoys did: protected their own. So without a second thought Astoria turned towards her and launched herself at the tall figure, who stood there like a pillar of comfort in the high tides of pain and without hesitation Narcissa’s arms closed around her and held her together, held her through her slowly subsiding sobs, held her through the heavy low tide of emptiness that washed over her afterwards and immobilized her completely.

She all but hung on her with all her weight, when Narcissa’s long finger found their way into her hair and caressed her scalp most gently.

“Child,” she sighed heavily and there was a trace of quiver in her voice as if the unpleasant event hit the old rock of painful memory. “I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”

“He gave him the ring,” Astoria said numbly. “Him. Not me. They are…” and suddenly the word swam from the bottom of her consciousness “… _bonded_.”

The implications struck her with full force and she stared at the elder woman holding her. “They are bonded. Sweet Morgana.”

But Narcissa would not be swayed by her shock. She moved her slowly, but adamantly away from her body and wiped her tears away with her thumbs resolutely, because she was Narcissa Black Malfoy and she didn’t know how to be anyone else.

“It is, what it is now,” she told her as gently as she could, but there was finality in her voice that did not allow for objection. “It does not do trying to break a bond like that. Don’t even think of it, do not attempt it. Those bonds… they are sacred. The magic flowing through them is ancient and powerful beyond your wildest imagination. You may not know much about it, but you know what you saw, you know what they are, my son and Ronald. They cannot be kept apart, because they are one. You might as well accept it.”

She stared at her with calm stern eyes as if she was waiting for her to acknowledge that she understood the full weight of the matter at hand and when Astoria finally gave a defeated, almost imperceptible nod, Narcissa’s eyes softened considerably and she embraced her daughter-in-law with sincere affection once more.

“I know my son,” she sighed heavily after a short pause. “Sometimes I think I might know him too well. He will not be cruel or unkind to you, he will respect you and consider your opinion should you offer a valid point. However – do not expect to be loved. Shield yourself from this expectation, because it is a false one and it will only hurt you. Malfoys only love once and I’m afraid his heart is already spoken for."

"Ronald… was unexpected,” she smiled thinly at some glimpse of a memory and added: “Not only for us, I’m guessing, but also for my son. I am certain this is not something he had planned for himself, but he can no more help himself than a butterfly caught in the big jar of sweet-smelling honey. He was always drawn to this man like a moth into the flame. Ron Weasley is his poison and I’m pretty sure he feels likewise about my son.”

“Now, that does _not mean_ you are without options!” she suddenly pulled herself up more energetically and looked at the dishevelled looking bride with puffy eyes and smears of make-up across her young cheeks most pointedly – and she began fixing he appearance almost matter-of-factly. “You are a Malfoy now and you should never forget that. Use it like a weapon, even if it is against your own husband. My son can take it, you will never be as Malfyoian as he is. Now, let me tell you a thing or two about being married to a Malfoy…”

And she lead her away in the direction of a wedding reception,  leaving the shattered shell of innocence of one Astoria Greengrass behind – and walking away with Astoria Malfoy, who was either going to be her worthy successor or crumble under the heavy foot of the latest unbearable Malfoy Narcissa gave life to.

~

They were kissing before the apparition even took place. Their need for contact, the simmering desire to devour, to join, to _feel_ each other was so intense it melted them into one person, into one writhing entity, burning through them with unstoppable force, spilling from one into the other as if they had no physical boundaries. There was barely room for a few loose words such as " _more, gods, more..._ " and " _ohmyfuckingod, finally.... you almost made me come in front of my parents_ "...

And then for another eon none of them could utter a single word, because this was no time for words; there was too much to be felt, too many new sensations to experience, so much starved craving to satisfy and _all_ that love to prove.

A million soft lingering kisses were exchanged as if their very souls wanted to devour each other most gently, a small army of shy caressing touches initiated as if it was their first time, wounds were licked into healing and new cracks opened. Ron’s been up and down Draco’s body with his lascivious hungry mouth and smart fingers one too many times until the blond was left begging… begging with loud incoherent profanities, begging with his mouth, begging with his leaking cock, begging, just begging for him to end this, to break this impossibly tense shell of his marble body that felt too tight for the roaring beast he woke up inside and release it into wilderness. And then there were Dragons to feed: the beasts of Lust, Need and Desire finally claimed their hungry toll, consuming them both through and through until nothing was left in the ashes than two aching young men, begging each other for relief, moving like stormy waves in symphony of love and perfect unity, in pursuit of impossible goal to become one.

Ron broke first.

“Open for me, Draco,” he demanded in a rough long pleading moan between two famished brutal kisses, floating somewhere just beneath the edge of ultimate completion and screaming bliss. “Open for me, dammit, let me feel you… need to feel you… _let me in_ …. god, please… just let me in… I’m going crazy here...!”

And Draco had no mind to oppose and had no will to resist, while his whole body just burned to comply, to serve his needs, to give him what he wanted so badly. Ron was his alpha, his redheaded demon, his blue-eyed god all in one, there was no word beyond his, no world in which they did not exist together.

So he wrapped himself around him like a serpent he was, took him in like an obedient slave, squeezed around him mercilessly, tightly to the sweet melody of his pleas and obscenities, let himself be ridden all the way down to the end of the slow torturous road to release until there was no way to deny themselves anymore, until the wave was about to break and they were just a scream away from tumbling over the edge of ecstasy. And then he cupped his face with both hands to look him straight in the eye and gave him the one thing he could share with him:

“More... here's more, here's all I've got: I love you, Ron.”

Nothing else. He had never acknowledged it before, not like this, not when he was still thinking straight, not without losing his control while begging for his cock. This time it was different. This time he was begging for his heart.

It had cracked them both open.

“God… _please_ … god, yes… Draco… only you… no one else for me… but you… please, beautiful... Draco… don’t… don’t let go…” Ron was yelping now, his hips convulsing on their own until he was _comingcomingcoming_ ; shouting and shooting load after load of unstoppable hot come so deep inside him it felt like they’ve finally broke the barrier that kept them as two separate beings and merged into one.

“Come love… come inside me…” Draco panted, afraid to miss it, to lose any precious moment of this absolute unity and bliss, joined with a man who made him feel complete on levels he did not know existed. “Stay… stay inside me… oh, fuck… don’t leave me… ever… ever again… I’m blind… and crippled… and dead without you, I’m only me… when I’m with you… oh, sweet Merlin, Ron… I married you today… _you_ … not her… and this is our bed… our wedding bed… our wedding, our lifetime together. Ours, Ron… _ours_ … oh, baby, split me, fucking split me in two and close around me… heal me... you and me… together… like this… every way you’ll have me, love… You _own_ me, Ron… you so own me now… Oh, Christ, please… I’m obsessed… possessed by you… always was… and now I’m yours… all yours, _yoursyoursyours_ for the taking… so take me… take me, my beautiful redheaded god.. don’t make me wait, oh, please don’t… don’t leave me…  nearly there… with you… I just need… need… you… Ron!!!”

He broke against the background of violent surges of the brutal cock speared somewhere through his very core and the sweet whispered endearments like “ _need you, Draco, need you, baby... so beautiful, god... love you so…_ ”

He lay in his embrace, under the weight of the wonderful warm body collapsed on top of him, still heaving heavily, still buried inside him, still whispering his name and his surrender. He knew it cannot last, he knew they only had a few short moments stolen from the world outside together, but he had never felt more intensely what it meant to belong to this man. He felt as if their bodies were to pull apart, there would only be half of him left, half of his courage, half of his warmth, half of his heartbeat. As if he only had half a life without Ron wrapped around him and at his side.

And when the redhead looked at him, through the red bangs plastered to his awed freckled face and smiling blue eyes, he didn’t have to say much, he just spoke out both their minds:

“Bloody hell, Draco... How am I ever going to survive this?”

Thursday suddenly felt like a million years away and Draco missed him already. He knew he had a honeymoon planned ahead of him, but he knew he’d be back on Thursday, if only for a few hours, just to quench his thirst for him. Much like Ron once was, a million worlds ago, when they were not yet bonded and born into this world of violent need for belonging bursting with colour.  He simply... couldn’t picture not coming. Not happening. He couldn’t imagine missing a single chance at being with him – it would be unthinkable as if a thirsty passenger lost in the desert was to walk blindly by the only spring of fresh cool water for miles. It was... not possible not to come. Never an option.

So he hugged him fiercely and kissed him passionately and told him what he knew to be irrefutable truth:

“I will always come back to you. No matter what. This... our Thursdays... it will no longer be like escape from the world. It will be like coming home.”

And nothing could describe more accurately how Ron felt lying so deeply submerged into everything Draco: this man was his home, this was where he belonged.  

~

So the message brought in by a strong grey owl in the middle of the night some weeks later, really shouldn't have come as a surprise: 

"I have a daughter. Come to me. I want you to hold her."

And Draco went. No questions asked.


	20. Anything for a family

“She is beautiful, isn't she?”

Well, in all truth, the child Ron pushed into his arms once Draco apparated was anything but. She was small and wrinkled and very red, her eyes were unfocused and the tiny little hands moved without any coordination.

But she also had the eyes of the most brilliant blue colour Draco had only ever seen on one other person, her tiny head was covered in fine, bright ginger hairs that looked as soft as the chicken down and gave an impression of a warm halo around her round little face and above all, she made Ron positively glow with love and pride – and for all her appearance the little princess might have been the most beautiful baby on the whole planet.

And she was. _Beautiful and precious_. They were perfect together.

When the blond arrived, Ron admitted him by simply pulling him in by the front of his robes; a bit brutish, really, but Draco wasn’t complaining, not really, not after he was pushed against the closed door recklessly and kissed thoroughly, hungrily, as if the redhead was hoping his kisses are going to say something he couldn’t find the words for.

“Missed you,” he breathed into his mouth and suddenly Draco became aware how wound up his ginger was, how tired and strangely happy.

“Where’s your wife?” Draco managed between two kisses, but the second he let the words slip, he could have kicked himself in the arse for his stupidity – Merlin, why did his blasted Malfoyian brain always have to work on full steam?! Couldn’t his mind allow him one moment of pure undiluted bliss!? He was loving this so…

But the moment had passed already and Ron was kissing him no more as if a thin veil of reality slipped between them and Draco could cry right there and then. And then he heard himself actually produce a small whimper, he decided he really couldn’t have that and opted for the more a Slytherin course of action: he cupped his face with his hands and pulled him into another searing kiss.

“I said…” he hissed at him after his soft wet tongue had made its point and the redhead surrendered to a frantic kiss with a greedy moan, “… where is your wife, Weasley… not that you’re allowed to stop... and not that I give a fuck… while you do this to me… god, your mouth should come with a licence… but my guess is… she’s not here… don’t let go… no… Ron!”

But Ron had already let go, this time for good. Flushed and panting, he took a step backwards as if he wanted, no, _needed_ to put some distance between them lest he ravage him some more.

“Fuck, Draco… I forget… every bloody time… I see you every day… and I’m not allowed to touch and it’s driving me up the fucking _wall_ … And then I know I’ll get to see you in private, I’ll have you all to myself and I just lose myself… bloody hell, man… next time come with a bodyguard, will you?... My wife’s not here,” Ron finally wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand as if he urgently needed to take every trace of Draco off his skin, because he wasn’t thinking straight with any of him so close.

“She was supposed to deliver at the Burrow, but this afternoon the baby decided she wanted out as in “ _now, not waiting a moment longer_ ” - Prewett temper, this one - so Hermione just… had it here and I called in my mom for re-enforcement. It took _forever_... bloody hell, man, it’s exhausting to even watch and Hermione’s so tiny... my wife’s suffered a great deal, this is some painful, bloody business... but in the end the baby came out just fine and she’s Weasley big and she’s just...”

Ron was lost for words, his eyes shone with softness and brilliance that made Draco’s heart contract in a surge of jealousy tinged with fear. _What if now…?_

“... she’s _perfect_ ,” Ron concluded, the happiness and pride in his voice unmistakable.

“But Hermione lost a lot of blood and the Healers came and had a look at the baby and she was doing great, just exhausted from the birth, like her mother, so after my wife fed her, they decided there was no point in taking the baby anywhere, but Hermione was taken to St. Mungo’s for the night. My parents are with her and Harry really wanted to stay here with me, but Ginny, she’s… well, not _jealous_ , no, but… anyway she dragged him along and I was left here to take care of the baby and it’s bloody _scary_...”

He stopped abruptly once more and looked Draco pleadingly and the blond knew what to do. Without asking another question he closed the distance and locked his arms around him, holding him tightly, kissing his hair off-handedly whenever he could, rubbing his back soothingly.

“So you thought it would be a good idea to ask your super-secret Healer-boyfriend, the one no one is supposed to know about, to spend the night with you and your daughter just in case of an emergency... My, Weasley, how _Slytherin_ of you, I’m impressed!” he teased gently and felt Ron smile into his shoulder.

“Well, yes…” the redhead confessed and added quickly, “... but that’s just half of the story. I really wanted you to be here with me, because...”

He seemed to have lost words again, but then took Draco’s hand and pulled him behind. “Just follow me, you’ll see,” he said quietly and the blond didn’t object.

As he lead him through the abandoned apartment, Draco realized, this was his first time in Ron’s living place. The flat was situated on the outskirts of London, near a big park with a little pond in its middle; spacious enough, with what Draco guessed must be quite an impressive flow of light pouring through the large windows during daytime. It was not luxurious, but it looked comfortable and modernly equipped with a fair share of Muggle equipment sharing space with wizarding artefacts. It just breathed Hermione Granger. _Not so much Ron Weasley._ But they had long ago established Ron’s home was elsewhere. Somehow it made him strangely happy that Ron left so little of himself in another place.

Without saying a word, the redhead brought Draco into a brightly coloured baby room and lead him to the intricately ornamented crib that, judging by the complicated design, must have been in the Weasley family for centuries. He then proceeded to pick up a small wrapped up bundle from it, awkwardly, but with utmost care as if he was painfully aware how priceless and fragile his little daughter was, and carefully deposited the tiny creature into Draco's arms who sprang up on their own to assume the proper position he was taught to take during his Healer training. And then Ron took a step away from them and just watched them intently, as if he was expecting some miracle to take place.

He was hardly surprised.

For a moment there Draco was left completely speechless. He stared with wonder into the unfocused cornflower blue eyes and when the tiny hand waved at him and touched him, he was startled. It’s been years since he held any of those… How could something so fragile and tiny be Ron’s child!? She was... how could he call her big, she was _tiny_! So very petite and... soft... and she _smelled_... - god, did she ever smell nicely! Of warmth and milk and the softness of almond-scented baby clothes, mixed with that unidentifiable “baby” scent that somehow broke past his defences. And then she burped and a little bubble of milk spilled out of her mouth and Draco couldn’t stop himself from a very un-Malfoyian, very nervous giggle and a charmed “ _ahhh_ ”.

It was as if the baby used the noise he made to pinpoint his location and she excitedly waved her tiny hands in his direction, trying to grab onto his shirt, all the while trying to make funny little noises as if she was desperately trying to tell him something.

And Draco couldn’t resist. He shifted his arms in a way that allowed him to pet her little head and he touched the soft fine hairs with utmost wonder... The child gurgled and somehow managed to grab onto his index finger... and Draco might have fallen in love a little just there and then.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” Ron asked him, his voice strangled from all the feelings he could not name as he watched the man he fell in love with cuddle the little princess he worshipped from the second they first put her in his arms.

“Gorgeous,” the blond agreed almost breathless and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the tiny being that looked as if someone put the best of her father right into his arms: the wondrous blue eyes, the softness of her, her trust and innocence...

Ron had moved to stand behind them and he slipped his long arms around them both from behind, hugging them tightly, sharing his warmth, his love, his pride and happiness with him.

“This is what I wanted you here for,” he whispered. “So she can be ours... so we can be a family... if only for the night.”

Only when he saw a droplet land on the baby’s sleeve and she gurgled happily once more, did Draco realize it was his own. How the hell did his redhead undo him by the very seams so easily, hurt him and move him to tears, make him want to cry and to kiss him stupid at the same time?

“Ron... Weasley... you bloody idiot...” he managed in a broken voice, but he shouldn’t have bothered, because Ron knew, he knew exactly what he had given him and how much it hurt that he won’t ever be able to give him all of it.

“Shhh...” the redhead whispered quietly and kissed him by the ear. “You’re scaring her. She needs to sleep, they said, or she’ll start crying. Do you know any nursery rhymes?”

“Weasley, you’re mad, I’m not going to...” started the blond, but in that moment the little one decided there was, indeed, something not quite right, and let out a wailing that could have shaken the walls of a fortress.

“My mother’s lungs, this one...” said Ron completely charmed and then anxiously: “Go on, then, make her stop!”

“You’re the father...” Draco mumbled begrudgingly but then obediently rocked the baby gently and somewhere from the back of his brain, a quiet little rhyme appeared and he sang to the baby as softly as he could:

_“Spellbound by god to love the light,_

_reflecting softly in your eyes._

_All I endured, what I’ve been through –_

_gone, with a tender touch of you.”_

Ron stared at him speechless and as if by a miracle, the baby stopped crying and only gave a short little sob instead. Unceremoniously, Draco pushed his little finger in her mouth and she began sucking on it eagerly.

“I never knew you could…”

“What?!” Draco said softly, not to disturb her again, though the hint of smugness in his voice was impossible to miss and he _might have been_ a bit flushed with embarrassment. “My mother secretly let Aunt Andromeda watch me when they were touring Far East one summer – Father never found out – and I remember she sang this to me. It’s obvious from the melody it’s not English in origin, so it’s bound to be awkward… Ouch…! I say… Ron, you idiot! Can’t you see our little princess is hungry?! Seriously, some father you are, Weasley, surely the Healers have left you with a proper replacement for milk and a set of instructions?!”

“I love you,” blurted Ron without pretence. “You’re... priceless, so precious.... Just... wait... don’t go anywhere.”

He disappeared into the little kitchen and showed up moments later with a bottle and found Draco conversing with the little lady.

“Aren’t you the prettiest little princess? Yes, you are! We’re going to make daddy very very happy, aren’t we? We love daddy, don’t we? To heaven and back, yes, we do...”

The conversation stopped abruptly when the blond spotted the Gryffindor standing between the doorframe and something in Ron’s eyes tied a knot in his throat.

The redhead approached without words and for some reason Draco’s heart felt heavy at the thought he’s going to have to break the moment of intimacy and hand him the baby.

“Test the liquid on your wrist,” he instructed him, but couldn’t mask the quiver in his voice. “Good. Now sit down comfortably, if she falls asleep, this might take a while.”

Ron sat down into a comfortable chair by the bed with convenient softly padded handles to lean his elbows on. As carefully as he could, Draco handed him the baby and as soon as she sank into the crook of his elbow, she greedily launched at the offered bottle. But she still wouldn’t let go of Draco’s index finger as if she found herself her own little place of comfort and she held on to it tightly. Ron looked up to him, a whole Universe of feelings in his crystal blue eyes and Draco couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down onto him and stole a soft lingering kiss.

“She knows...” Ron whispered into his mouth. “She knows we’re a family, you and I and her. She loves you already... This is perfect, we are perfect together. Such bliss...”

“Don’t, Ron...” Draco whispered as if clinging to the last hinges of reality, but then he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept away by illusion once more, as he kept on stealing one soft kiss after another, unable to stop himself from whispering broken endearments and his heart-felt wishes.

Only when he felt the baby’s grip around his finger slacken, he tore away from his lover slowly, almost painfully and looked at the little princess. She was sleeping soundly and the milk was oozing from the side of her mouth.

“Place her on your shoulder,” he instructed him in a soft voice, not to wake the child from her precious sleep. “Now massage her back and tap it gently, until she gives a burp – or you’ll be in a world of trouble later.”

A burp turned out to be quite a flood, but Draco didn’t go through months of handling all the St. Mungo’s babies for nothing, he still vividly remembered wet clothes, smelling of sour milk and whatnot at the end of his shift and he had carefully placed a towel under the baby’s head before Ron lifted her up.

“There... “ the blond said quietly, evidently quite pleased with himself. “Now it’s safe to put her back in the crib. She should sleep for quite a while, she had a good meal and a healthy burp, my guess is she’ll be out for a couple of hours...”

Ron had carefully deposited a baby back into her crib, but not without Draco fixing her position - _“Turn her to the side, put a rolled up blanket behind her, yes, quite like that, well done”_ – and then he straightened himself up and silently stared at his lover for a long moment. As if he had reached a decision he finally took a hold of his hand and led him to the adjacent room. Which turned out to be the master bedroom.

“Ron... we can’t...” Draco started, his mind too boggled by this strange night, his soul too tender for more gentleness, shredding him to pieces, but the redhead wouldn’t have any of it. He simply hushed him with a finger to his lips and dug his fingers into the platinum hair, capturing him, bringing him closer, sentencing him to die slowly of torturous love, while he kissed him, kissed him to oblivion and some more, kissed him until Draco couldn’t remember why he thought this was a bad idea, kissed him until he felt his heart surrender and heard himself begging for “ _more..._ _gods, need more...”_

“Why not?” the redhead finally asked fiercely in a quiet passion-filled voice. “Why not here? Who deserves to share this bed with me more than you? You shared your wedding bed with me, why not this? It’s only proper. I’m bonded to you... you had us bonded, you beautiful blond bastard and now this is what we are, who we are... I’m supposed to share everything with you... and this is the one thing I haven’t shared before... My life, Draco... my life away from you... my pointless boring existence within these walls that only ever hold me as a guest... help me make it into a home... help me make some memories here... some priceless, precious memories... like only you know how... let me make love to you, Draco... on this bed, my beautiful... gorgeous... Slytherin prince... I made my daughter on this bed... but it had never known love. Share it with me, Draco, share it with me now. Sanctify it with me... this bed... this house.... the rest of my life... with our love... I can’t ask for anything less.”

“ _Yes_...” whispered Draco, his head on the verge of exploding from all the overwhelming contradicting thoughts, but none of them could be heard above the soft whisper “ _with our love_ ”. He said yes to that, he had said yes to that years ago and now again, with all his heart. What did it matter indeed, where Ron asked him to prove it? A bed was just a bed, a soft shell to the pearl of their love and what better place to show him his commitment, his dedication, his devotion than Ron’s own lion’s lair? Lie down with him he would, it was what he wanted, what his heart wanted and Draco has learnt over the years spent at the side of his forbidden lover that it wouldn’t do to say " _no_ " to his heart, whenever it got a rare chance to speak. 

And Ron was especially gentle to him this time, as if he was trying to make a point that they were making love, not just fucking; that this was more, so much more than a clandestine relationship condemned to blossom in the shadows, that this was the real thing, a proper illusion of a life they should have had. A life where he could wake up into his warmth, into the arms of his lover safely wrapped around him and not fear being discovered and not feel pressured by the clock to let him go. A life where they could raise a child together and it wouldn’t matter which one of them brought it into their home. A life with the home they would share seven days a week, a life with a man he came to love with all his heart by his side, a perfect life they will never know.

He was giving him all that and more in a solitary island of a secluded London apartment, in a bed that will never again smell the same once it knew love, with the soft breathing of a sleeping child in the next room their only witness. He knew he would be heartbroken once again when he’d be forced to leave; heartbroken and lost and crushed for days... but he was making precious memories for life and sometimes memories were all that kept him going through the week... until their next time together. 

As always he found himself helpless in his arms, unable to hold back his most private hopes and dreams when the hard leaking shaft slipped inside him, conquering him, taking him apart, pounding him into his own private hell of denied desire and brushing time and time again at that aching spot of heaven that made him whimper and beg... Every bliss-filled rocking motion of his hips sent him closer to his own lustful demise and it inevitably pushed out another undeniable truth onto his stuttering tongue, messed up by the unfathomable love he didn’t even know he had:

“Ron...” he was blabbing and he didn’t care, “Ron... I want us to be this... to be a family... god... I wish... I wish I could give you this... myself and a child... and a home together... I wish it was meant for us... make it true for me, Ron... godfuckinggod some more... don’t let me go... give me hope...”

“I’ll give you better than that,” Ron panted, once more lost in that divine body he was breaking into bits of ecstasy, “I’ll give you a promise... god, gorgeous, you feel like heaven... I can’t spend my life away from you, I can’t... mother of god, I’d sell my soul for this... I’ll take you once... one day... I’ll take you away, if I have to... but I’ll make you mine, Draco Malfoy... need you, need this... we’ll be this, what we already are... in our hearts... we’ll be a family... for the whole world to see.... fuck, precious... almost there... I want... to spend... my fucking life... with you... by my side... Draco –!”

In the echo of the last moment’s sane thought not to wake the baby, the blond sank his teeth deep inside his own arm when he came violently... and if he could he would have come again at the sight of the arching body, shoving into him brutally, spilling his hot come all over his insides... Fuck... this was... Ron seemed to glow with his own magic as his strained body delivered his juices so deep inside him Draco was sure they were going to stay.... He didn’t have the words to tell him how monstrously beautiful, how unforgettable he found him. He just couldn’t stop his eyes from feasting on him. This would be embarrassing if it was anyone else but Ron... but there couldn’t be. Not for Draco. Not ever again. And this finality no longer scared him.

They lay in the bed panting, intertwined, body and soul, for long moments to come. Ron was playing with Draco’s hair the way he knew the blond adored, and Draco simply stretched by his side, along that wonderfully warm body and pushed his face in the crook of his neck. He felt sheltered and at peace, loved and strangely happy, as if what he wanted from life came down to this, to lying next to his lover, inhaling the scent of his silken hair. He loved this. He loved him. It was as simple as that.

Only when there was a quiet whimper from the next room, quickly transforming into a string of sobs, did Ron get up, dressed sloppily and showed up a few moments later with a baby in his arms, glowing with that special parental happiness and pride no one else could bestow upon him.

“She’s awake,” he informed him and then quickly: “Get decent, will you?! I can’t have my little girl staring at your bits!”

Draco mumbled something unintelligible about his bits being very popular just a few moments ago, but complied nevertheless and wrapped his bottom half into a blanket.

Then he looked at Ron questioningly and the redhead said matter-of-factly: “Well, what are you waiting for, make room! I’m bringing our little princess in!”

And Draco rolled off to the side of the bed, quickly performed a few cleaning charms and had a little girl deposited next to him. She seemed to have recognised him from up close, because she gurgled happily and her tiny hand went looking out for a piece of him. Draco offered his index finger and she grabbed it enthusiastically and squealed as if she found something priceless she was looking for, for ages. Draco couldn’t help himself on this strange tender night. Before he knew it he had leaned in and kissed the little one softly on her brow.

“You’re incredible,” he told her gently. “Such a little flirt. You’re dad’s going to have to shoot Unforgivables left and right to get you rid of the suitors when you come of age, you priceless little beauty. She’s your daughter through and through,” he looked at Ron, stretched on the other side of her, watching the exchange of affection with awe and astonishment. “She has your signature all over her.”

He couldn’t tell him more, not at the risk of betraying too much of himself, how very charming he found her, her innocence, her need for contact, her trust – she was all Ron in his eyes. But the redhead read it all and leaned over her to steal a kiss and that quiet understanding between them said more than a thousand words could.

“So,” the redhead said after he had settled back to his position at her side, “when will my daughter get a dashing little blondie to fall for?”

And Draco just sighed heavily and his head collapsed back onto the mattress. Trust it on Ron to bring up the very question he anticipated and feared, complete troll, this Weasley of his! It was the one question not many people dared ask just yet, it’s barely been a couple of months since they were wed, but it was silently present in his mother’s eyes every morning she greeted Astoria and her eyes looked for the slightest change in her figure – and then there was this awkward situation when Father tried to assess “ _how things were going between them_ ” with a few poorly placed questions he probed him with. Draco knew he dared not push yet, but it was only a matter of time before he got bolder. It was just…

He tried, he had god honest tried, but ever since their wedding night the situation has been awkward between them and he could tell she was angry at him. She did not try to deny him access to his wedding bed - she was too smart to forget why she was married into this family - but it was not like he sought it actively. It just… felt too much like betrayal.

It was _their_ bed, it was another’s image he saw when he forced himself to pay her a visit and sometimes he had to close his eyes to keep the illusion, to at least be able to go on with it. She was perfect, she was young, she was unspoilt, she was beautiful. It was not enough.

She was also… well, a “ _she_ ”, she was too compliant and she was all curves and soft flesh when he yearned for hard muscle and the scent of… him. There was nothing wrong with her. She just wasn’t Ron Weasley. And that could not be fixed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully, staring at the pretty little girl playing with his finger. “I can’t seem to find the heart to do it. I just don’t know how… I… can’t. It’s all wrong and she hates me and she’s not…” he stopped and looked at Ron and the redhead knew.

His long arm came to rest on his cheek softly and caressed it most gently.

“But I want you to,” he said with unforgiving gentleness and looked him straight in the eye. “That’s why we went through all this – married the wrong people, decided to live a lie – so we can do this right, pay our dues to our families, be free at last. Give them what they want and you’ll be free of them. I… have it easy,” he admitted. “My wife is one of my best friends, she loves the life we have and if I have to keep lying to her to make her happy - then lie I will. And I want children, I want more than just this one… but every child I have, will also be a child of ours.”

And Draco only had to look at the little princess holding on tightly to a part of him, to know that Ron meant it and that he was right. But Ron’s finger slipped under his chin and he lifted his head to make sure he had his full undivided attention. And his brilliant blue eyes were suddenly full of pity and compassion.

“But you, my love, you were born with a much heavier cross of expectations you must carry to the end. So I thought about it, I thought about it lots and I figured out there just isn’t any other way to get that cross off your back. What does your father want most of all? You know the answer to this as well as I do: the Malfoy line to continue with a rightful heir. So I reckon - that’s what you need to give them. An heir.

He’s already expected just about as much as any child can be and he will be loved - not only by your family, your mother and father, but also by this man here. I would never forgive myself if someone so extraordinary as you wouldn’t give the world a piece of himself. You need to go out there and make a little Draco, you need to. I can’t wait to see one, to welcome him. Oh, you know as well as I do, it’ll be a boy, you lot don’t know how to have anything else!” he messed up his blond hair and smiled brilliantly, leaving him with a fluttering heart.

“And once the child is there, you’ll be as free as one Malfoy can hope to get. No one can ever tell you that you let the Malfoy family down. You will have done what was expected of you, nearly all of it. And you know – this part isn’t hard, it isn’t hard at all. You will love your child, I know you will. You will see yourself in him and you will love him because you’re a Malfoy and the Malfoys love their own – and because you’re you, Draco, and you have it in you. I, of all people, _know_ you do,” he looked him deeply in the grey eyes and Draco shivered in the sudden recognition how well this man knew him, how close inside he had let him.

But the long fingers trod through his hair gently once more and the sensation filled him with such longing, he would have listened to the redhead saying anything, any damn thing, as long as he kept undoing him by the simple gesture of his fingers.

“You’ll love playing with him,” Ron said almost dreamily. “You’ll love teaching him, you’ll love holding him and just lying next to him and watching him sleep. And once you figure out that your child is your one chance to rectify all that went wrong with your upbringing, then you’ll love him for that as well. You can make sure you’ll never make your parents’ mistakes – I know I couldn’t wait for that chance. Not that my parents made many, mind you, they’re just about the England’s greatest parents – but I grew up with some wounds, perhaps with less than most do – and I can’t wait to heal them…”

And then his fingers stopped abruptly and the hand touched his cheek once more, the thumb making a tiny loving circle, before gently touching the corner of his mouth. And as Ron stared at him with those impossible splendid eyes, Draco would have said “ _yes_ ” to his own doom in that moment; he would have, if his blue-eyed god asked it of him.

“So, please, _please_ , Draco – try,” the redhead said softly, almost pleadingly, instead. “Make it happen. For your family, if you must, but also for yourself, for me, for us. You can’t imagine a more special moment than when they first put that tiny being… that person _you_ made, your flesh and blood, in your hands. So much hope, so much opportunity, so bloody _scary_ – but worth it all the way. I want to put _your_ child between us once, and bless it with our love. Make it our child. I do, so help me god, I do. I will love your flesh and blood as if it was my own. Look how my little girl loves you! She can tell… she can tell how I feel about you and she accepts us… as _us_.

So do it, Draco, do whatever it takes. Merlin knows I’ll love you no less if you do. You’ll give purpose to our messed up lives and if there’s one way to give purpose to all the lies, all the hateful things we have to do every day to keep up more than one illusion – then this is it, this is what I choose. Your wife will forgive you once you give her a child, your parents won’t doubt you, not ever again. And you’ll always have the best part of you living by your side to love unconditionally, with no remorse, no shame, no hiding, no pretence. This feeling… I want to share that with you as well. Give us a chance, love, I promise you will not regret it.”

And in that moment the little girl gurgled happily and stuffed Draco’s finger into her mouth as if she wanted to say: “Well spoken, dad, I have nothing else to add.”

“Oh, Rosie… what am I _ever_ going to do with you?” Ron sighed happily and the light and love from his eyes just poured onto her little figure. And Draco realized he had never heard her name before.

“Rose, huh?” he said and smiled at the little warrior princess attacking his finger with vigour. “Beautiful… ouch, Rosie, that’s no way to treat Uncle Draco… plenty of thorns as well, this one…  It suits her, it suits her just fine.”

“Yeah… “ Ron smiled proudly. “Hermione figured I should be the one to pick a name for our first-born… so I did. I haven’t told her yet, though. I needed to think it over. And it just came to me a moment ago. I’ve been calling her “princess” in my mind all this time, but when I looked at her a second ago, she just looked… well, like a Rose, really. Like my fiery bright Rose against the winter background,” he touched Draco’s chest softly, where one of the little hands was resting as if she was looking for his heartbeat and the blond looked him in the eye numb, helpless and unable to tell him how overwhelming he found them both.

“Besides,” Ron smiled a tiny embarrassed smile. “I’ve always had a soft spot for those flowery names… you know, like Lily, Harry’s mom… or Narcissa, like yours.”

And Draco stared at him, with his heart beating in his throat and suffocating all those words that needed to be said… about how incredible he found it that Ron found a way to link his daughter to his, Draco’s mother, almost as if he was trying to pass on a heritage… about how much he loved him for doing this, for sharing this precious gift with him, sharing his beautiful perfect daughter and their private time together… with him. He knew he couldn’t say those words, but his redheaded lover knew him a little too well and he read it on his face how very undone he had become. So he just leaned in, brought his face closer and kissed him softly. And then told him: “I love you. I wanted to give you this.”

And the blond kissed back with near despair, eager to tell him in his language, their language, how very thankful he was, how unforgettable he found this, those perfect moments that will never belong to anyone else.

“I will try,” he told him between two kisses and they both knew what he meant. “I will try in earnest.”

“Good,” mumbled Ron, already somewhat oblivious to his victory, because, damn that man, he knew how to stir him, how to make his mind spin and his breath hitch even with the most innocent of kisses - but then his face suddenly grimaced and he tore away from his lover only to stare at his daughter with a look of wide-eyed horror:

“Mother of god, _the_ _smell_ … Rosie… ewww!… Were you attacked by a giant sewer and the sewer won, princess!?”

Draco couldn’t help laughing out loud.

“Well, Rosie… you came up with your own little present for your dad, didn’t you? Perhaps it’s time for your Uncle Draco to leave now, let your dad unwrap the precious gift all by himself…”

“You.Are not.Going. _Anywhere_!!! I’m serious, Malfoy! If you leave me now, with this… god, what was in that bottle!?... this _produce_ in her nappy, that’s _it_ between us, I want a divorce!”

Judging by the horrified look in Ron’s eyes, he was only half-joking and Draco barely managed to swallow a laugh that was bubbling at the edge of his throat.

“Blackmail,” he determined dryly. “Rosie, your father retorted to blackmail. Let it be known, that I was blackmailed into doing this. I want it in your yearbook, as it happened, if you please: _My dad then blackmailed my Uncle Draco into changing my diaper very shamelessly, pulling his immense sex-appeal and a set of blue eyes Uncle Draco’s crazy Aunt Bella could not say “no” to._ ”

Ron rolled up his eyes: “A guy asks him one little favour, seriously… Draco Malfoy, forever the drama queen… ” he mumbled, but Draco had already sat up in the bed adamantly and picked up the baby carefully.

“Hold her, while I get decent,” he instructed him, then put his clothes on dutifully ignoring one wistful look after another Ron was sending his way as his decidedly tempting body rapidly disappeared into the well-tailored robes. And Draco just smiled smugly to himself. It was good to know that for once he was not the only one with issues of unresolved sexual tension.

“Now – considering your wife probably read every book in existence on babies, I bet you’ve had everything ready for months, haven’t you? Excellent, it’s good to know the Mud-, Granger is still the goody two shoes she was in school. Now, watch and learn… and for Merlin’s sake, try not to vomit! You have no idea what she’ll have in store for you once she switches to solid food!”

And Ron didn’t retch – just barely! – but he soldiered on, because his “ _super-secret Healer-boyfriend_ ” came to his rescue and he was making all the effort, making it look so easy and damn, was there something, anything this man wasn’t good at?! Seriously – who the fuck makes changing a baby look sexy!? Well, he had his answer right in front of his nose, wearing a smug smile and offering him a clean, sweetly smelling baby and he just had to, he had to hold him, hold them both and tell them, tell him how very precious he found him.

“I don’t want you go to,” he whispered, but he saw in the resigned look of the grey eyes that it was time - and goddamn, wasn’t that the dawn already creeping in through the windows and the night, their magical night together, was without a doubt approaching its end.

“I must,” Draco said quietly, though he didn’t want to, he really truly honestly didn’t want to. This apartment, so foreign mere hours ago, suddenly felt as _their_ territory, theirs, Ron’s and his and of the baby alone, and he felt inexplicable rage and jealousy to think that this was not only the first, but probably also the last time he was ever going to set his foot in here and that someone else entirely was entitled to roam the rooms where they set up their little illusion of being family.

But it was only for the night. Only for the night and now the night was over.

He felt torn and hurt like never before when he said his goodbyes by the door. It took lots of slow lingering kisses to find the strength to part, as well as a string of broken whispered promises “ _soon, very soon… a day after tomorrow… it’s Thursday… I’d never miss it… just a couple of days and I’ll see you again… I miss you already… we both do…_ ” as if Ron was aware how badly ripped apart he felt, how barely he was holding it together, how much resilience was necessary not to give up the last of himself and beg him to let him stay.

And then there was the baby in Ron’s arms, awkwardly placed between them, but somehow a perfect fit, because she made them what they were this night. Draco must have kissed her round red cheeks a dozen times and still he felt as if the brilliant blue eyes were asking for more, because she was just the most adorable little thing who gurgled happily whenever she caught a strand of blond hair and just pulled and pulled until she got another kiss and it was time for another happy gurgle.

She broke his heart. In that, she was also her father’s daughter.

Ron’s eyes sparkled with barely held back tears when the blond finally managed to tear away from the little thing and the baby, as if she sensed that something was getting broken beyond repair, launched into an angry devastated howling as if she was aware that was the last of the silken comfort she was going to get.

“Get her away from the door, she’ll get a chill… and for god’s sake keep her safe,” was the only thing Draco managed before he put his hand up and touched Ron’s cheek in a goodbye, unable to say another word, unable to even look at him.

“Thursday… see you on Thursday…” Ron whispered behind him, but Draco was already gone, another second in the place of broken dreams would have burned him to ashes. And Ron just swallowed thickly, determined not to spoil this occasion by crying and whispered to his daughter:

“And this, Rosie, is how your foolish daddy watches the love of his life walk out of the door… time and time again.”

~

When Draco apparated to the their apartment, by more luck than wisdom unsplinched, he held his cloak around him with trembling fingers as if he was going to fall apart if he let go. The pain and emptiness that overwhelmed him were unbearable. There was no way he could go back to the Manor tonight, he was only held together by the thought of soothing warmth and familiar smell of their bed, their sheets, their bed–covers.  He always felt safe buried deeply under a pile of blankets, pervaded with the smell of them, their smell, their happy time together - and tonight he needed it more than ever. He felt hollow, raw and filled to the brim with hurt and a sudden need to scream out his agony.

Why did he allow Ron to keep on hurting him? Why did he crave it so? How did he get so caught up in this game of give and take he had no way out of and wouldn’t use the exit door even if there was one? Why was he so cursed with this heavy unforgiving love that gave so much and took even more and left him with a feeling he had no life outside of it? Why…? Too many questions and not an answer to be found.

He staggered towards the bed and sunk right into it, not bothering to take his clothes, not even his coat and boots, off. He was chilled to the bone anyway, might as well keep them. He was also exhausted. Not before long he launched into a dream so torn and vivid he couldn’t tell where the veil of his dream world shredded and reality peeked through. He dreamed that someone pulled his boots off and rid him of his coat and then that familiar warmth wrapped around him and that god-like scent possessed his senses, making his misery, his emptiness, disappear on a whim. He dreamed of him, of his silken warm hair, of a tight embrace and soft soothing kisses and sunk right into the bottom of that dream and slept like a child.

And when he finally woke up and indeed found himself safely tucked within Ron’s arms, with the blue eyes smiling at his awe, he was really only half startled. Perhaps this was a part of a dream as well.

“My mother came to relieve me of my baby-watching duty; she said to get some rest,” Ron told him quietly. “But I told her I was going to get some air instead and I came here. I could feel your sorrow seeping through the distance. I can’t stand to feel you hurt, Draco Malfoy.”

And he accepted a shower of grateful kisses with a blissful smile and hugged him fiercely some more and eventually they drifted off into another fit of tired sleep. When Draco woke up, Ron was still slumbering, his arm casually thrown over his waist and bent in the elbow to keep him as close as possible. And he was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of gratitude and stupid heady love. He was going to repay him the only way he knew how.

He kissed him softly and chuckled at the unintelligible mumble that came out of his mouth, then he freed himself as carefully as he could from his embrace and covered him with his coat in the last gesture of love and care, before he disapparated from their apartment straight into Diagon Alley.

Two hours later Astoria Malfoy woke up into a room filled to the ceiling with flowers. There were vases and bouquets and baskets of them, all of them roses, some bright red, others translucently white and they were everywhere. On the dresser, by the bed, hanging from the chandelier, an avenue of them leading to the door and a few more splendid luxurious bouquets by her feet. And her husband was right in the middle of them.

None of his usual cool façade was in sight, not even a glimpse of remorse she got used to seeing in those startling grey eyes though he would never own up to it. This time those eyes were lit with light that filled him from within, making them glow with a fairytale silver lustre - and he was smiling. Not the usual cold sneer or a haughty smirk, but a full-on blissful smile she saw him offer Ron Weasley on his wedding day. It had transformed him so, all of the sudden he was beyond beautiful.

“I came to make you happy,” he said simply. “Let’s make this work, Astoria.”

And something inside her melted at the sight of that smile and she felt her own face stretch in an attempt to mirror it. She offered him her hand and opened the bed covers invitingly.

“How about we start here,” she proposed with a sweet smile and her heart leaped in her chest when he took her hand without further ado, merely a victorious smile playing at his lips.

~

Almost eight months later to the day there was a nervous sound of a doorbell at the peaceful apartment of the Granger-Weasley family on the outskirts of London. A rather bleary-eyed Hermione Granger-Weasley – for it was the middle of the night – went to open the door, fully intent on giving a fair piece of her mind to the brute abusing her doorbell like this, with no thought to a sleeping child.

But she literally took a step backwards when she stared into the livid ice blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy.

“For Merlin’s sake, woman, lower your wards, the war has been over for years, I almost got knocked about!” she barked at the startled looking Hermione. “In the end I was reduced to… _this_ ,” she pointed angrily at the abused door-bell button now looking rather worse for wear. And without pausing long enough to give Hermione a chance to retort, she demanded with a poorly concealed urgency in her voice:

“No matter, nothing for it now. I came here to fetch your husband. Is he home?”

“What use could you possibly have for Ron?!” the bushy-haired witch finally found her voice and it sounded exactly as irritated and on edge as she felt.

“He is b… paired to my son… at work, his… partner, is he not? Draco is in need of him! It is urgent and of utmost importance! I would not be here if this was not the case, you can trust me on that! It is also… somewhat confidential. It is absolutely vital that we hurry up!”

“Look, Madam Malfoy, if you think you can just barge in and demand my husband to join your son on some super secret mission - which you’re clearly privy to, so how secret can it be?! – and in the middle of the blasted night, you’ve got another think coming! Ron’s not going to….”

“Hermione?” came from behind her back and Ron Weasley, clad merely in a pair of loosely done jeans, showed up with a small sobbing child in his lap. “What’s the commotion all about? Who’s…” but the words died on the redhead’s face when he noticed their visitor and his visibly sleepy visage was immediately wide awake and alert.

“Has something happened to Draco?” he asked breathless in a sharp tense voice. “Is he OK? Is…”

“Everything is fine with my son… for now. But he _needs_ you,” Narcissa Malfoy looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey without words how very urgent this was. She didn’t need to say more.

Ron handed Hermione his daughter without another word, without even an attempt at explanation.

“Take me,” he said simply and ignored the gawping mouth of his wife when Narcissa Malfoy took a hold of his arm and disapparated them both.

Once they apparated in the lobby of the Malfoy Manor Ron frowned. He had bad memories of this place and it made his skin crawl to even be here.

“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” he threw after Narcissa Malfoy, who wasted no time rushing him through a small million of elegant rooms.

“It’s Draco’s baby,” she replied without even looking at him. “It has been born already, far too early, and he’s very weak. My son is in there, fighting for his life. And I know you can help. ”

She halted so abruptly, the redhead barely stopped from knocking into her, and looked at him with uncommonly feverish eyes: “I know you can. Prove me right, Ronald.”


	21. Spilling magic

The air in the room was thick with the suffocating smell of candles, a whole sea of them illuminating a richly decorated nursery from every corner – and still doing precious little to chase away the hungry shadows that seemed to breathe darkness from the depth of the room’s exquisite heavy decor. The very atmosphere of the chamber was tainted with despair and pregnant with sickening anxiety.

The young man leaning over the child bed, however, was deaf to the world and seemed entirely unaffected by the room’s numbing depression. Having long ago forgotten all about the time, he was bent over a creature so tiny it seemed all but lost in the elegant crib. His mouth was moving tirelessly, whispering endless string of incantations and Draco Malfoy didn't even seem to notice when the door opened. He would certainly not be disturbed.

A small half-orb of translucent light poured from his wand and surrounded the baby, making it look faint, almost other-worldly. Almost motionless, it seemed as if the child was barely holding onto life inside the light-arch, kept in place by the blond man's incantations.

"Draco, darling... I brought help," Narcissa spoke quietly with an uncharacteristic quiver in her voice.

"I told you, Mother - I don't want anyone touching my son!" hissed the young man, clearly upset for having been interrupted. "Don’t you ever listen!? _I don't want anyone near him_ ; no one will lay a finger on him, no one can have him!  I can do any Healer's job and... Mother, _please_... I made this baby, it is my responsibility to make him stay. He is weak... my little boy... so very weak."

His voice cracked in the end as if it had used the last of his strength and he resumed whispering complicated incantations that seemed to be keeping the child alive, even though just barely, and the father clinging on to his hope.

It broke Ron’s heart to see him like that. And the baby… he knew better than anyone how much Draco secretly looked forward to the child, to be finally able to hold one of his own in his arms. For an obscure reason the blond came to adore Rosie and Ron had often resorted to taking her to the park, where he met his lover “ _by chance_ ” and then use the disillusionment charm just to give them an opportunity to see each other. Because it was all the way mutual. As soon as she could crawl, Rosie made the effort to climb into his lap and sit there happily for the remainder of their time together, not interested in anything else but playing with his long blond hair, messing it up with joy and lots of squealing, all the while babbling happily. And the very fact that Draco let her said more than any words could how he felt about “their little princess”.

And now he was finally to have a child of his own, a son, Ron knew, because there was nothing else for Malfoys in centuries – one son, that was it – and now it had all gone so terribly awry. He couldn’t let that happen. And as much as he wanted to just go there and hug his man fiercely and tell him it would be alright, he knew it was not going to be enough. Now it was time for a different kind of action.

"The baby can’t breathe properly," he spoke resolutely and Draco almost dropped his wand at the impossible sound of his voice. Incredulously, as if he couldn't believe he wasn't only dreaming, the blond cast a quick hungry glance across his shoulder and when his eyes indeed stopped on a tall redheaded figure, scantily clad and bare-feet, he closed his eyes as if he was trying to negotiate with his brain that his favourite redhead showing up in his child's nursery half naked wasn't just a figment of his wistful imagination.

"He's not breathing right," Ron repeated stubbornly, his eyes focused on the baby and deliberately paying no attention to his stunned lover. "Just... let me check something... don't move, don't move _him_ under any circumstances and above all, don't give up on him. We can fix this, I know we can."

His voice was so adamant and full of assuredness that Draco’s knees almost gave in as if this very certainty somehow relieved him of his exhausting effort. But instead he just nodded with a knot in his throat and grabbed onto his wand with renewed vigour. He then closed his eyes to maintain focus and keep the protective spell in place with necessary strength. Just having Ron around was enough to put his whirling ravaged mind to peace and fill him up with hope.

"Madam, I need to leave for a very short time,” Ron turned to Narcissa, suddenly all businesslike and added quickly, before she could raise objections: “Very short time, I assure you. But I must be granted access when I return - I don't wish to be blown to pieces from here to Timbuktu because of your paranoid wards. Can I have it? Just for the night?"

"Anything," Narcissa promised without a blink. "You'll be able to apparate and disapparate anywhere on the Manor's property. I'll personally make sure of that."

"Good, make sure that I can, I may need to go back and forth several times."

With these words he disapparated from the spot and Narcissa only had to _look_ at her son to know that she had done the right thing. He seemed to have straightened himself up, his shoulders arched defiantly with new strength and she knew he would hang on to his son's life for as long as it took for Ron Weasley to return. That's how much trust he had in the man he bonded. Narcissa wished she could share it - but she had brought Ron Weasley in for a reason and that reason did not sanction despair.

So she merely told him quietly: "It will be alright, you will see. He's a force to be reckoned with."

She saw his shoulders grow stiff for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just gave a curt nod and continued with quiet incantations, so she turned around without another word and went to do Ron Weasley's bidding.

Indeed it didn’t take long. But when the redhead re-appeared, all he had on him was a book, a small vial and a long narrow tube. Narcissa looked at him frowning, barely able to conceal her confusion, but the redhead wasn’t willing to lose any precious time.

“Can you do this?” he looked at her and pointed out at Draco. “Can you do the same incantation as your son and keep your grandson alive while I show this to Draco? There is no point explaining to you what this is for, he’s the Healer, he’s going to have to perform it in the end. So - can you help?”

“Of course…. I shall do my best,” she nodded curtly and if she was in any way insecure about her task, it wasn’t showing. “But you must hurry up,” she urged him and then added in a barely audible voice: “I can feel his magic disappearing, you better pray your book and other accessories prove helpful, Mr. Weasley.”

And without another word she approached her son and said in her most confident voice:

“I’ve got this. Your… partner has something to show you.”

Draco just paid her one long look, a Universe of pleading, weariness and worry in it unspoken, and abandoned his post at the baby’s bed after a long last.

“Weasley,” he managed before he collapsed into his arms and he couldn’t, he couldn’t pretend any longer, not for the world, not for his mother, that this was nothing, that his presence here was not desperately desired… so he did the only thing that felt sane: he kissed him. And Ron kissed him right back. Openly, without a hint of hesitation or remorse, kissed him straight on the mouth and Draco’s wounds began healing right there and then. That's just the way Ron Weasley affected him: he gave him hope, strength and whatever else he needed to make it through the moments of despair.

“Read this,” his lovely redhead said quietly and pushed a book he had brought along into his hands. “It’s Muggle, from a Muggle doctor. My wife had it in her library, you were right, she _did_ read every book in English written on babies before we had our daughter. This, right here, is the section that speaks of prematurely born babies – and this, what I underlined - is what your baby lacks to breathe on his own. We need to make his lungs work properly and this substance _here_ is that we need. I broke into a Muggle hospital and brought it here, but I couldn’t transport all this Muggle equipment you see on the picture with me - plus there is no time.

We will use our combined magic to make this work. We’re supposed to be larger than life together, Malfoy, so we will be. And we will bring your son back from the edge of the veil, I will breathe for him if I have to, for as long as I have to, but you’re the one who has to install this thing, just the way it is on the picture, through his windpipe. I don’t have the knowledge.”

Draco’s eyes grew big at the sight of a long narrow tube and a graphic sketch and he shook his head in horror almost imperceptively.

“I… can’t. This is barbaric.”

“Yes.You. _Can_ , Malfoy!!” Ron’s voice was almost brutal with a sudden surge of Weasley temper. “You saved my life once, all those years ago, when Harry hexed me by mistake; you fought for me, tooth-and-nail and we’re going to fight for this baby here, your baby, our baby, do you hear me!? I’d do it, I swear I'd fucking do it even at the risk of your father skinning me alive if somehow this went wrong, but I don’t know the human anatomy as well as you do and I have a higher risk of failing. C’mon, Draco,” he spoke more softly at the sight of misery in his eyes.

“I’ll be with you all the way, this cannot fail. My niece Molly had the same - you know, my brother Percy’s little daughter? She was born prematurely and when nothing else helped, Hermione persuaded Percy to take her to a Muggle hospital and she was fine, just fine. So right now you’re going to take me to your bed, the big one, the one we… you know,” he smiled at him gently and brought a glimmer of light into the darkness of the day. “I’ll lie down, you’ll put your son on my chest and I’ll help him breathe while you do this. It is the only way. Please, Draco… let’s give our Rosie someone to play with, together.”

He kissed him once more, for hope, for courage and because it felt damn good and right kissing him in that moment. And somehow the unwavering hope and immense trust in his skills Ron held gave Draco courage to finally nod in agreement.

“Let’s do it,” he said quietly. “It’s not like we have anything to lose. We can’t keep him like this indefinitely.”

He paid one last look of anxiety and sadness to the tiny creature in a beautiful crib and called out to his mother:

“Has Astoria been moved from the bedroom yet? We will need room, Ron and I, to make our… to make my son better. Please make sure she moves, I want that bed, that room, to myself.”

“I shall take care of it promptly,” Narcissa nodded without stopping to plague him with a million questions she had ever since she saw the Weasley boy return and talk to her son quietly. There will be time enough for questions later, this was hardly the moment, the matter was far too important. The aura of magic she could see in her grandson was fading rapidly and her heart constricted in her chest when she reprimanded herself that she should have swallowed her pride hours ago and fetch her son’s life-mate immediately. But there was nothing for it now, she hoped there would never be a time to regret it.

The moment Draco took her post by the child’s bed, she hurried to make sure her son got everything he asked for. But as soon as she opened the door to the adjacent master bedroom, she was all but attacked by a hysterical flood of questions and sobbing her daughter-in-law released at the sight of her.

“Merlin be praised, Mother! There you are! No one would tell me anything! Where is my son?! Is he alright!? Draco took him away from me before I could see him properly and I know, I just _know_ , something’s wrong! But no one would talk to me, no one! And they won’t let me move because of all this blood and… it’s awful! So please, Mother dear, please tell me he’s alright! He’s got to be, he’s got to! He was so full of life inside me, kicking away happily and then all of the sudden… Please… I just want to know no harm had come to him! He can’t be…”

At this point the door closed and Astoria’s voice was cut abruptly, leaving strange heavy silence to pervade the room.

“She’s right, you know,” Draco suddenly spoke bitterly. “One moment I had my hand on her belly, feeling him playing Quidditch inside and the next thing I knew there was liquid and blood everywhere and she was _screaming_ … God, I wished she would stop… I couldn’t think when she howled like that, I couldn’t focus on how much I wanted him to live… I couldn’t…” His voice broke and he closed his eyes for the moment.

“Perhaps I’m cursed,” he whispered quietly. “Perhaps I’m destined to be the last Black _and_ the last Malfoy after all. I’ve done so much wrong, perhaps it’s only right… Perhaps I’ve cheated Death somehow during the war and now it came back to haunt me in the most horrible of ways. Perhaps…”

“… you’re tired and you don’t know what the hell you’re saying, love,” Ron said as calmly as he could, desperately trying to hide how deeply he was hurt by his lover’s bitter thoughts. “I’ll tell you one thing: I’ve done _nothing_ wrong and this is my child as well and I say that the Death can’t have it, not today! And I’ve cheated Death every bloody day in that war, by this reckoning everyone dear to me should be dead already! You will stop thinking those absurd thoughts right now, because I need my Malfoy here with me, if you please. You know, the arrogant bastard that would ask Death how _dare_ she come and fetch him in those shabby clothes – I need _that_ Malfoy with me now. Only he can save this baby, our baby, our son – because like this, you can’t,” he added brutally and it was enough to stir Draco out of the depressive flow of thoughts and pull himself up.

In that moment Narcissa Malfoy floated back into the nursery and told them quietly: “Everything has been arranged according to your wishes. You have the bedroom to yourselves.”

“It is time, then,” Draco decided quietly, a distressed man from a moment before gone as if he never existed. “Weasley, go make yourself ready, I’m bringing our son in.”

And it gave Narcissa Malfoy all the credit in the world that she never even winced at the word “ _our_ ”. In fact, she might have smiled a little.

~

Ron lay down onto the luxuriously adorned bed he remembered so vividly and closed his eyes for a moment. It would be an understatement of a century to say that he was just a tad nervous. His every neuron seemed to be tingling with sensation of panic and that “ _what the fuck are you doing, Ron_!?” feeling he knew he cannot share with his lover at any cost. This was no time for self-doubt. They came here to do this and do it they would.

He was startled as soon as something cold and tiny had been placed onto his chest and he reflexively covered it with his big hands, to secure it, to protect it, to heat it up. To make the flames of the weak, barely present life he felt beating faintly against his chest burn a little higher. Without a thought he began massaging his heart gently. The child was tiny in a complete different sense of the way Rosie was. Rose was small as every baby seems to an adult, but her skin was warm, her complexion healthy and she just radiated life. This little being on his chest however… he was so small he fit right under his hand almost from head to toe… and he was uncommonly still and trembling… so cold and so very fragile, barely clinging onto the edge of life….

But he was fighting, wasn’t he, he was still here, a proper Malfoy, Draco’s son and Ron was prepared to go to hell and back to keep his little heart beating, to keep him here, with them. It was _theirs_ , another one of their children, and Ron meant to hold onto him, whatever it took. Even the thought of losing the little boy was unimaginable, _no_ , entirely unacceptable. It would have devastated Draco so, it would have kept him off the thought of ever having a child again and the redhead couldn’t stand to see him suffer more sorrow.

He knew Draco had been through more than he ever confided to anyone during that blasted war; he was painfully aware how hurtful the young man, starved of love, found it that they needed to keep their relationship hidden from the world, though he would never own up to it; he had long ago realized in how many ways the merciless spikes of forced neglect, feigned ignorance and pretence of mere camaraderie – all of those necessary to keep up the flawless façade of his life in the spotlight - found a way to pierce his blondie’s heart. He wasn’t about to allow the sorrow of losing a child to his cup of misery. He was a _Weasley_ , goddammit, they _did not lose children_ at birth, not a single one, and in his heart this child was as much his as any he was ever going to father.

So fight he would and with this thought he focused all his energy, all the magic he felt tingling at his fingertips into the little creature under the palms of his hand.

“Come on, my little one, we’ll do this together,” he told him gently and thought he felt the baby’s skin grew just a tiny bit warmer under his touch. “That’s right, you’re doing great; I know you’re a fighter. We’re going to make your papa very proud, aren’t we? Your papa is going to be very brave now and he’s going to help you breathe a bit better. It’s not going to hurt, not one little bit, your papa is very skilled, the best there is… We’re ready for you,” he looked Draco in the eye and the sheet-pale young man approached them.

Ron wasn’t sure he had the nerve to watch, so he just closed his eyes, whispered a meaningless string of sweet nothings and kept the baby as still as he could until he felt Draco’s fingers move away and the blond spoke quietly: “It’s done. And now…”

“… we wait,” said Ron adamantly and pointed to an empty place next to him. “Lie down next to us. There… you’re tired, my love. Put your head on my shoulder, just like this. You know how much I love feeling you next to me.”

As soon as Draco’s lithe body slid down next to his lover, adjusted to the shape of his massive body as if this was its most natural position and his head slipped onto Ron’s shoulder, they both felt it. The surge of their combined magic rushed through them with terrific force and without saying a word, the redhead took a hold of the blond man’s hand and placed it on the body of their little boy, their fingers intertwining tightly above it. And their magic just _sparkled_ , focused through their joint hands almost to the point of pain, creating an ultimate sensory, in every way sensual experience. Without saying a word Ron turned his face towards Draco and when their lips joined, it felt as if all the pieces fell into their rightful place and a new entity was formed, made out of their love, out of the bond they shared. And it seemed as if there could be no better cure for the child in their midst.

Almost immediately one could see the change they sensed from the moment their hands connected: slowly but surely the minuscule body grew considerably warmer under their fingers, the skin colour transformed from greyish white into a pinker shade and finally the little chest began moving on its own… hesitantly, unevenly at first, as if the child was uncertain if he could really do this, but the breathing steadily grew stronger, more secure and more rhythmical.

Slowly, almost unwillingly their lips parted and Ron turned his face to watch the little wondrous creature, Draco’s son, another one of theirs. He could feel his own magic pouring from him into the boy and though he couldn’t pinpoint the moment, he had somehow come to recognise for certain that this was working, that the little one was going to live because of the old magic flowing through them. He felt focused and at peace at the same time and he wouldn’t think just how much his magic is going to be depleted because of what they were doing. He knew they cannot keep this up forever, but he could do it long enough. After all, it felt only too right to be lying down like this, just them and their baby; he was not about to be the first to end it.

And then Draco’s son opened his eyes for the first time and Ron’s breath stopped in his chest. When he heard the blond give a surprised gasp, he knew he saw it, too. The baby’s eyes, the eyes of the next heir of the Malfoys, shone with the same colour of brilliant blue only one other person in the room had. Somehow the magic that spilled from Ron into the little boy got captured and reflected in the shade of his eyes.

“I…” Ron was robbed of words. “I didn’t know,” he said finally, almost apologetically. “Perhaps it would change later, they say that babies…”

“No!” Draco’s voice was feverish; almost wild with crazy, irrational joy. “No, I don’t want it to change, it _cannot_ change, it has to remain this way! It has to! God, this is… _unbelievable_ , so priceless… I could not wish for a better gift to my son, this is… he’s beautiful.”

“But… everyone will know,” Ron said quietly.

“I don’t care, _let them_! They should know who saved my son’s life, it’s only right… and for those other fools we’ll just say he’s got Astoria’s eyes, they’re blue, I think… But this is just…”

Draco couldn’t stop staring at his child, touching him, kissing his little fingers one by one as if he wanted to thank every single one of them that they were still there, making him unfathomably happy. He had his little piece of heaven now, a priceless little boy with Ron’s eyes and he was head over heals in love with him already. He briefly wondered if his father ever felt so strongly about him, he couldn’t imagine that he would, but then again, he had never come so close to dying, perhaps Lucius’s love never got tested so brutally at such young an age.

And Ron couldn’t hold on to his anxiety any longer when he saw his lover so happy. There was barely a trace of the cold Malfoyian exterior left, the young man by his side simply radiated love and happiness. So he smiled and thought, fuck it, they would cross this bridge when they get to it, there was no obstacle in their way they couldn’t overcome, that’s just how magnificent they were together.

“I suppose it could have been worse,” he said softly and couldn’t help give a tiny naughty smile. “I suppose he could have gotten my hair.”

Draco’s grey eyes got impossibly big at the thought that never crossed his mind, because that, indeed, would have been much harder to shrug off and explain... And Ron couldn’t help giving a soft chuckle, yeah, the first blue eyes in the long line of the Malfoys probably _were_ a small price to pay in the end. More so, because that little unexpected gift seemed to have made his lover a special kind of happy. So he watched him indulge in showing his affection openly some more, because it suited him so and he was well aware how badly the blond craved it… But he knew he was going to have to break the bubble soon.

“You have to take him to his mother… soon, very soon,” he added quickly when he saw a miserable look flash in the grey eyes. Nope, Draco Malfoy did not want to share his son with anyone, at least not with anyone else but his precious redheaded lover, not after they had fought so hard for his life – but he knew he would eventually have to, so he just swallowed a knot in his throat and nodded hesitantly.

“Soon,” he said quietly. “Just give me a minute with my little Scorpius.”

“Dear God, what a name!” Ron couldn’t help but give a small chuckle and when Draco flashed a sudden unexpected grin, he knew that they were both touched by the same memory: an 11-year-old Ron Weasley meeting Draco Malfoy for the first time and finding his name hilarious.

“Shut up, _Ronald Billius_ , you terrible Weasley brat!” Draco said with barely held back laughter in his voice and got a sly little “ _make me_ ” in reply, that promptly made him pull the redhead closer and kiss him passionately. He poured all of his thankfulness, joy and love in that kiss and there is no saying where it was going to take them if it wasn’t for a barely audible whimper in their midst and they practically jumped apart in worry.

“Merlin, he’s tiny… and precious,” Ron whispered and saw Draco practically swell with pride.

“And alive,” added the blond quietly. “I owe you, Ron. I owe you a life debt now.”

“You would… if this was not my child as much as it is yours… but it is, just look at him, he’s got my eyes,” Ron smiled proudly. “So there is no debt, Malfoy. I’ve just done my parental duty. As I trust you would for any of the ginger little brats that should come with me.”

“Gladly,” Draco said off-handedly, but they both knew the dedication and resolution that hid behind that one word.

As if on cue the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy stuck her head through it. She never even winced at the sight of her son resting in bed at the side of his life-mate, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, but she didn’t attempt to come closer, she merely asked from across the room in a quiet voice, filled with anxiety:

“How is he? I will have to tell his mother something, I can’t leave her hanging on like this, she’s going positively insane with worry and all the hormones raging about!”

“Come and see,” her son invited her calmly without attempting to move from the side of his lover and away from his precious son.

And Narcissa approached. Her shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of the pink shade of skin and the little bare chest, moving in and out with tiny but resolute breaths, but she couldn’t stop her hand from flying to her mouth when she spotted those distinguished eyes…

“Merlin,” she breathed and was left speechless for a while, while her son stared at her quietly, defiantly, _daring_ her to say anything about it with alert grey orbs.

“Oh, but he’s beautiful!” she finally exhaled and Draco’s shoulders slumped free of the burden he didn’t know they were holding.

“He is, isn’t he?!” he asked warmly, the pride and joy in his voice barely contained.

“Indeed he is,” Narcissa nodded graciously. “A proper Malfoy… with a small exemption of those lovely eyes. Such an exotic colour, how extraordinary! You have to let me take him to Astoria now, you _have to_ , dear, this is unnecessary cruelty!”

And because she was his mother and because this was her idea, Draco nodded quietly and said:

“Take him, then… but not for long! He needs his rest. Show him around, let Astoria feed him and bring him back to me. I want him to spend a night with me, I’ll watch over him, we’re not completely out of the deep water yet.”

“But of course,” Narcissa nodded with uncommon gentleness, holding the child firmly, proudly and securely as it was only appropriate for the biggest treasure of the house of Malfoy. “I will introduce him to his mother, put her fears to rest... and your father will expect to see him as well. He's been given such a scare, I’m fairly certain he wont even notice the peculiar eye colour once a healthy child is placed in his lap! Mr. Weasley…” she turned towards Ron.

She paused a little and Ron hurried to relieve her of trouble of finding the right words:

“It was nothing… really. My pleasure. Just make sure he is safe and sound…”

“No… well, _thank you_ , of course, I _was_ going to thank you, what you did here tonight was beyond and above anything my gratitude can express… I was, however, also going to ask you, on behalf of myself and my son here, if you’d show us the immense honour and become my son’s godfather… which in all accounts but formal, you already are?”

And for once Narcissa Malfoy managed to stun her son and his redheaded life-mate numb and stupid – and watched their astonishment with a small satisfied smirk playing at her lips. Ron actually stared at her gawping and Draco… Draco could hug her and kiss her and tell her what a brilliant mother she was… if this kind of behaviour was in anyway acceptable. Which it wasn’t. Of course not. The Malfoys here. But when he spoke on behalf of his lover, the joy and excitement were barely contained in his voice:

“He accepts. Or he will… as soon as he can find his tongue again.”

“Yes!! Merlin… god, _yes_!” Ron finally woke up, his blue eyes wide and awed, but a moment later turning dark at the unwelcome thought.

“But what about your husband? And the child’s mother? I don’t believe she’s too fond of me and Lucius…”

“Lady Astoria will be duly informed of your role in saving my grandson’s life, Mr. Weasley. I’m certain she will not object, she has _no right_ to object!” Narcissa’s ice blue eyes glittered with a sharp brittle spark and the redhead was fairly certain that Astoria Malfoy, would, indeed _not dare_ object.

“And do not spare another thought on my husband,” she added graciously, more calmly. “I will make sure he gives his consent - though expecting his satisfaction with this matter would be perhaps… far fetched. No matter… this is not about my husband, this is about what is best for my grandson, and I believe, Mr. Weasley, that _you are_... if only as a godfather… for now.”

And then she gave another one of those stunning smiles that transformed her completely and reminded the redhead of Draco at his happiest, making him feel that this woman was, indeed, an iceberg no one’s ever seen more than just a tip of. She held his look for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, and then added with uncharacteristic softness:

“After all…he will be looking at the world through your eyes, it would not be acceptable to never see you. Farewell, Mr. Weasley.”

And with these words she turned around, a small smile again playing at her lips and she all but floated graciously out of the room with a child in her arms, leaving two stunned men behind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my mother,” finally managed Draco. “The good fairy.”

And then he did what he craved to do the whole endless nightmare of a night: he took his reward straight from Ron Weasley’s mouth. He needed it so, the strong comforting hands, the soft mouth whispering it was all going to be alright, the slow persistent passion that build up and pressed against his loins and burned his fatigue, the rest of his despair. Ron came to him, into his territory and he was well within his rights to have him. Or something like that. Whatever worked, it’s not like he needed an excuse to come looking for love of the man he bonded. And hushed hungry moans told him that no, he indeed shouldn't have bothered with excuses.

~

So it happened that one lovely sun-lit Sunday, when the little Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, an heir to the noble pureblood house of Malfoy, was finally fit to attend the name-giving ceremony, he was held most proudly by a tall redheaded man with the hugest brilliant grin on his freckled face. And right next to the redhead there was a child’s father, the always impeccable looking Draco Malfoy, who managed to all but _glow_ with glorious joy at the occasion. Standing slightly to the background there was a small company made up of a sour and stiff looking grandfather, the distinguished Lucius Malfoy, a somewhat stunned and blankly smiling mother of the boy, Astoria Malfoy née Greengrass and an uncommonly satisfied looking grandmother Narcissa Malfoy, the descendant of the honourable house of Black.

The picture, though one was taken, never made it to The Prophet, that was one small victory Lucius Malfoy managed to secure, though it all but faded in the face of his magnificent defeat when he tried to persuade his resolute wife that “ _Weasley, for Salazaar’s sake– Weasley!!!_ ” – was a dreadful choice for his only grandson’s godfather. No one ever found out what had happened between the loving couple of Malfoy Senior and his noble wife Narcissa, nor what and how much it took for him to surrender, but surrender he did and Narcissa had walked out of their private chambers with a victorious smile and informed her son matter-of-factly:

“It has been taken care of. Tell your… tell Ronald I want him in his best robes and on time on Sunday. I want the occasion to be perfect.”

And so it was. In every way.

Because finally, after an eternity of seven long years, the lives of Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley had a legitimate reason to intertwine. And after that the lies Ron Weasley told his wife sounded just a little less than what they were – elaborate lies, and Draco fell prey to another little ginger seducer – unsurprisingly a little clone of Ron’s by the name of Hugo. And Astoria Malfoy was lulled into the sense of false security, when years passed and she still found her husband by her side every evening, every night - except that one in a week. And she came to realize she could live with that. With her beautiful healthy strong boy with mesmerising blue eyes by her side – she could.

Right until the day when it was time to take Scorpius Malfoy to the Platform 9 ¾ from where he was to embark the Hogwarts express and begin his proper education. Because that was the day when their worlds collided with force and everything was to change once again.


	22. Getting ready to meet the storm

“Merlin… Ron…  what the fuck, _ohhhh_ …”

It was Thursday, their Thursday – yet it wasn’t, not yet. They were still at the Ministry, they barely made it to work, when Ron dragged the blond into the nearest empty bathroom with one pull of his strong scarred arm, pushed him against the wall and went down on him, right there and then.

And all of Draco’s objections melted like butter in a hot pan under that persuasive soft tongue exploring the pits and folds under his strained cock, circling around it as if begging for permission, hungrily devouring whatever flesh it could find and again rubbing gently, pleadingly against his swollen balls, impossibly tight with days worth of come he was saving for their afternoon encounter, and he knew, he just _knew_ there’s no way in hell he was ever going to last until then…

Ron’s surprise onslaught was unexpected, but in no way unwelcome. If Draco had it his way, he would have fucked this plush seductive mouth first thing in the morning, every morning, and especially on Thursdays, which had a nasty habit of dragging and never bloody ending until they finally did and they could go and just jump each other with a week worth of frustration and pent up tension. Draco _dreamed_ of such surprise encounters, he wanked to the fantasies of them and yet when they came, rare as a snowfall on a summer’s day, they still managed to knock him off his feet, melt his brain and put his imagination to shame.

 _This_ … the real thing was so much better, the danger of being found out so present and real and that fucking incredible mouth so insatiable, Draco couldn’t hold on to any shreds of common sense he had left. 18 years and when Ron ate him, he still had him from the first moment when the tip of that wet tongue from hell slid down his tortured skin, inevitably reducing him to a begging quivering jelly-legged mess with no mind and no restraints left, stuttering obscene details of his frustrated sexual desires until every single one was fulfilled and he was brushing against the edge of climax so tightly he felt as if every muscle in his body needed to break for his release to come roaring out. And it did, in the end it always did. Ron was a tease, but he wasn’t cruel, he never let him hanging on, desperate and wanting, not when he could help it and usually he needed it just as badly as Draco did, cursing and demanding his helpless lover’s surrender with words, that incredible tight horny mouth and big greedy hands, kneading his arse while he was looking for screaming release brushing madly against the velvet of his lips.

That… _this_ was heaven for Draco, so terribly, so incomprehensively desired, and every single one such episode always left him with an aching heart and longing for more, longer, _forever_ of this… thing between them. Even after all those years he never grew out of the desire to make this more than it was. Instead of subsiding, his yearning to own Ron grew stronger with years as if his addiction with the redhead demanded more and more of the lethal dose of his poison; more time with him, more of that tender affection he would let no one else bestow upon him, more of that crazy tense and intense fucking that shattered his sanity and burnt down all his needs – and had a new army of them rise from the ashes as soon as they parted.

How the fuck did sex with Ron still got impossibly better every time they were together, was beyond him. He should have been bored by now, it should have turned into a routine, it should have been enough and unnecessary… and instead he was starved of him; jealous and angry at everyone who got to spend time with him and he used all of his Slytherin cunning to prolong those priceless moments they had together until most weeks Ron no longer went home at the break of dawn on Fridays, but just left to work from their flat…

But Draco never left with him. He told him it would have been suspicious, but that was just part of the truth - in reality he needed a few more moments alone to pull himself together; to push and lock in that unruly crazed Draco that wanted to stay by his lover’s side screaming and let the level-headed Healer Malfoy emerge and somehow take charge in those days when he won’t be allowed to touch and indulge his need to feel and taste… He was a right mess after Ron left and he spent increasingly more time obsessing over plans how to make him stay longer, visit their lovers’ nest more often…

He frequently wondered… and finally allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and just asked him, how come that he never failed to show up on Thursdays – he found it impossible that the hated but admittedly brilliant Mudblood would fail to notice and object to his repeated absences on the very same day of the week over the years.

“Oh, that…” Ron smiled smugly and explained matter-of-factly. “I had that written in my pre-marital contract.”

And Draco’s jaw just unhinged.

“Well, it was her idea,” Ron shrugged. “She wanted all kinds of things for herself – like how the property is to get divided and kids to be raised should we split up – I think we kind of surprised ourselves to still be together after all these years – but I just asked for this. I told her I needed a day of the week to have a break from it all, be what I cannot be as a family man, and I think she assumes to this day it’s something like getting shit-faced with Harry. After she agreed, I kind of led her reasoning down the road where we both determined Thursdays were the best. Thursdays, no exceptions, save for emergencies of the worse kind. I think she was quite happy with having it structured and labelled, so far she has yet to protest… not that it would do her any good,” he mumbled straight into the demanding mouth of his clearly impressed lover.

But there were two sides to this arrangement: Granger stuck to it as rigidly as she ever did to everything she had rules and regulations about and having Ron stray from it would have brought upon the objections and suspicions they both worked so hard to avoid. And as Draco grew progressively greedier to have the redhead to himself, this was at first frustrating, then infuriating and in the end it became a challenge and a goal in itself: every time he managed to make Ron take a step out of their regular arrangement of Thursdays-only it felt like personal victory. Even if his opponent had no idea she was involved in any kind of fight at all.

And moments like this… Draco _loved_ those moments, he craved them, they felt incredibly sweet. He knew then that something was off, that perhaps they fought or she must have done something that made Ron seek him out and give him what she could never have and somehow it always felt as if she had failed him and he had not. He didn’t dare dream that one day, one of those moments is going to tip the scale into his favour and perhaps his redhead won’t go back... he didn’t dare. Not very often. Not every day at least. But every time it happened, he did. He couldn’t help to trample over his own heart some more.

And he knew Ron wasn’t going to leave him to speculate what had happened to make him look for the comfort in his lap this time – in the end he always spilled, he was just this kind of a guy that couldn’t keep it to himself when something was bothering him. Perhaps it would take a bit of prying, probing with casual prompts and provoking questions and waiting, always waiting patiently – but he was going to find out and it was going to be one more weakness of Granger’s to remember. Draco kept a track of them all.

But this time Ron hasn’t said a word, not in the longest of time. Not when the needy sloppy wet tongue hungrily brushed one too many times against Draco’s aching flesh and he was suddenly coming and coming and whimpering and coming some more, emptying his balls almost painfully, blowing a load of hot come straight into that heavenly pit of silken mouth that milked every last drop of his surrender. Not when he got up to collect his award and share a searing kiss, with a taste of his lover’s juices still bittersweet at the tip of his tongue. Not when he swatted away Draco’s greedy eager hand from his crotch and left the bathroom barely concealing his hardness and without a single word of where and why this came about. Not when he went through the entire day without even brushing against the topic of the morning encounter, slowly derailing the blond with all the speculation and possibilities.

Until they finally made it to their little shelter and it still took the blond an hour of insane brutal fucking that finally breached through the barrier and left them both nearly destroyed. And then, only then, with heart beating like a sledge hammer, tightly wrapped around his exhausted lover, did Ron open his mouth and blurted:

“You’ll bring your son tomorrow to the Hogwarts Express then?”

“Yes… yes of course, what kind of a crazy question is this? It’s only proper… I barely persuaded Father and Mother to stay home, they wanted to come as well. You will bring Rose, surely?”

Ron just nodded and added quietly without bothering to look at him: “And my wife. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. Harry will be there as well, Albus is going this year… They’ll all be there. And they will know. My wife will, if no one else, as soon as she sets eyes on your son. I might be able to distract Harry, but she’s as smart as they come, my Hermione, she won’t be fooled. I never told you that, but… she already suspects… something… that there is someone and now she’ll take one look at him and she will know. My only hope is, she won’t be able to explain it. But that won’t stop her from asking _me_ to do so.”

Draco’s head was a mess. He still felt breathless from their out of this world fucking and now this… All the possibilities, all the scary options were suddenly within his reach and his mind was swirling, unfocused, unchecked, heart wanting, hope soaring. But he needed to do this right.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, Weasley,” he told him, all his effort focused on sounding calm, and was surprised at how well his voice hid the raving jungle of impossible hopes roaring to life inside him. “If she starts accusing me of something, I’ll just call her crazy. But my guess is – she’s going to wait before she’s out of the limelight. She’s too smart to cause a scandal. But the question is – what are _you_ going to do?”

He awaited his reply with a heart beating against his throat, against his temples and his chest and he lost himself completely in the sea of blue when Ron looked at him and said quietly, resolutely:

“I can’t lie, Draco. I won’t. Not because of her, but because of you, of what we have here. I can’t taint this by lying about it, by denial and neglect. I’ll avoid it if I can, I’ll do my best not to bring you down with me, but I won’t lie. And I hope you’re OK with that.”

And finally the blond understood what bothered him so. And could barely stop himself from laughing out loud. The redhead was afraid of losing him. He was _actually afraid_ Draco was going to panic and try to make him deny it all. As if he would ever do that. _Ever_. As if he could. How could the stupid Gryffindor…? Him and his god-awful low self-esteem! Didn’t he _know_?! How could he _not_ know, how could he not tell Draco would sell his soul, throw away his life in a blink, sacrificed almost anything and anyone – literally anyone, but his son - to be with him? Finally, completely, all the way? Is he really going to have to spell it out for him, the horrible self-depreciative berk that he was?! God, fucking god, what on Salazaar’s bloody _Earth_ it was going to take for Ron Weasley to get that Draco practically worshiped the ground he walked on?!

Of course… he bloody well couldn’t _say_ it; he could _never_ say it, not like this, staring down those incredible eyes, because that would just be… he had no words for how this would make him feel. It would expose him so, wash all the Malfoyness out of his very bones, melt down his defences and leave only Draco, vulnerable, head over heals in love, with nothing but naked helpless hopes to his name… No, he could never say it, he won’t. Ron is just… he’s going to have to figure it out by himself. He’ll try to show him… paint him a fucking picture of his devotion, if he had to, but raw open words… they were out of the question.

“Do what you have to, Weasley,” he replied heavily without trying to break the silken ties that bound him to his own reflection inside those very blue eyes. “As long as you’re still here when the next Thursday comes. Because I will be. This… is just a minor complication. I won’t be bothered by it. And neither will you. I _expect_ you here, do you hear me? I’ll come looking for you, if you don’t show up and fuck all. Are we clear on that, my beautiful ginger dragon? Or do you want me to pay a visit to your lovely little wife and explain why she has to give you up on Thursdays?”

“You bastard…” whispered Ron, but his mouth was already looking for his as if the very thought held unfathomable appeal. “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me… just try me,” whispered Draco, feverish with the explosive potential the next day held for him. “Try me, I dare you… and you’ll find out just how much I’m willing to do… god, stop breathing fire down my veins… how far I’m willing to go to keep my favourite… ginger… boy-toy to myself…”

“The only ginger boy-toy, I hope…” murmured Ron, while his mouth looked for yet another vulnerable spot to melt and dissolve Draco into to the little bits of need and that pulsating craving to own him and to be owned.

God… sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t just sex, if he wasn’t just obsessed with Weasley because he delivered so beautifully, so achingly perfect… He was toying with the idea of bringing another man to his bed, just to test out the hypothesis – what if there was another out there who could give him all that Ron was giving him, so he could have this… this pleasure without the terrible addiction his life rotated around? But there was just no one else… No one else spiked his interest these days, he compared them all to him. He only had to look at Ron, just close his eyes and _imagine_ him, and he felt the pull and the vicious desire crawling treacherously down his veins… and any thought of other men just vaporized into the thin air at the feeling.

And then there was this thought… this terrible impossible thought that perhaps the redhead nursed the same ideas, the same wonderings and questions and… _godknowswhat_ , he couldn’t stand the notion and he had to ask him, he had to, even at the risk of getting an answer that was going to slash him right open.

So once when they ended up in each other’s arms after another episode of mind-blowing sex and his heart was still racing a hundred miles a minute, he asked him; tucked safely inside the warm embrace of sweaty wonderfully scented skin he blurted the question and felt his insides contract the second it was out:

“Do you ever think about doing it with someone else? Beside your wife, I mean…”

“I don’t _think_ about doing it with my wife, I just do it, because she’s there and I get horny and she expects me to,” mumbled Ron and every hair on Draco’s body went alert with tension, because he knew what this was: this was evasion, the redhead never answered his question.

“It’s not what I asked,” he said quietly, dangerously, almost physically feeling his muscles getting ready for the blow. “You answer my question and answer it right, Weasley!”

“Are you asking me for a threesome, Malfoy?” the redhead exploded so unexpectedly that it knocked the wind out of the blond. _What???_ He never…

“Because you told me you’re not sharing once and I expect the same. I’m not fucking sharing you with anyone, d’you hear me? The only one I’d be able to share you with would be Harry and I’d hate myself for it afterwards.”

So that was it, then. _Bloody Potter_. Still, after all these years. Draco’s jealousy surged to the surface so violently he sunk his fingers into his lover’s flesh brutally, not giving a fuck about hurting him, because it was the only alternative to just wrapping them around his neck and bloody _murdering_ him.

“ _Potter_ , then!” he hissed; blood pounding against his brow making him irrational, leaving him out of his mind and wits, literally seeing red. “You want Potter then?!”

“No, you daft fool, I want you!” Ron yelled right back, livid for his own reasons. “If there was ever to be anything between Harry and I, and I’m not saying there was, I gave it up, years ago, for you. And that’s that! Just that… he’s the only one… I need intimacy to be with someone, I can’t just be with someone to fuck them, I can’t. I’ve long ago figured that out, all the way back then when I was with Lavender… she just felt wrong, for all the experimenting we did and it was nice, I just didn’t want her to… I couldn’t… it felt all wrong. And Hermione knows me inside out, so I can… with her. And Harry… he’s the only one other person that… I don’t want to, but I could…”

He paused, as if he got lost for a while, then picked up his thoughts stubbornly, as if this was something he had long ago wanted resolved:

“We never did, you know… once you stopped me from telling you that, but we never did it, nothing outside the drunken teenage fiddling about… the hands and the mouth and the things boys do for each other, best mates…”

“No, I _wouldn’t fucking know_ what _best mates_ do for each other, how would I, Weasley!?” the blond accentuated every angry screaming word with venom. “I never _had_ such a _glorious_ best mate who was willing to _suck me off_ and _wank me_ into coming… Merlin… No wonder he’s all crazy about you, you fucking moron!” he finally exploded. “You can’t possibly know…” his words stopped abruptly as if he ran out of air to say them, as if was about to choke on the primal wrath boiling to the surface from some dark pit within him. God, he was murderous! How could he… right now he could just hurt and punch him and sink his teeth into this god-awful gorgeous loser that had the power to spin people at will and never even knew it.

But for once Ron was not apologetic and was not backing off in the face of his anger.

“It was years ago, you idiot! Way before we got together and you asked me to be with you, just you, exclusively. I’d never go against the promise I gave you, I’ve never touched him since, how could you even think it!? I hardly even touched him before, not after he got together with Ginny, I didn’t! He just… he sometimes steals a kiss from me,” admitted Ron in a quieter voice and added quickly at the sight of _murder_ in the grey eyes staring back at him:

“Just from time to time… completely unannounced, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it afterwards… and he always makes it into this kind of a joke and I’d be an idiot… I didn’t wanna say anything because it’s just Harry, it’s the way he is and you’d fucking make it into something this is not! But sometimes it makes me think… because the way he kisses… it’s not… it’s just odd,” he said suddenly looking apologetic and embarrassed. “I don’t think… It’s not like he’s crazy about me, he just… I suppose he needs affection and confirmation… and he takes it wherever he can get it… It’s not like that between us. It never was. Not like it’s between you and me. It never could be. Because… you know where my heart lies, you bonded me to you and I let you. For a reason. Harry is just…”

“He loves you,” blurted Draco, his voice low and dangerous, finally spitting out what he couldn’t all those years ago, when he watched Potter come at his man time and time again. “He married your sister to stay close to you, I know he did, I just know it.”

“No, he… I chose you,” said Ron quietly, miserably. “I chose you and now you want someone else. That’s why you started this conversation, it’s your fucked up Slytherin way to let me know I’m not enough anymore. So it’s just damn handy to drag Harry out of the ancient past and let me take the blame. That’s it, isn’t it?”

He looked at him, the sadness and the humiliation so clearly etched into his clear blue eyes that Draco’s anger deflated in a blink and left him feeling insanely guilty.

“I…” he started and all of the sudden didn’t know how to continue. It was true, what the redhead had said - it was his own musings that lead to this dreadful disastrous conversation and he should have known better – because it was also as far from the truth as it could have been. He suspected he couldn’t have cheated on him even if he wanted to, there just wasn’t anyone else and even the thought was absurd… _But Ron had someone_ , the little green devil whispered in his ear, he had _the best there was_ waiting for him; his for the taking, if he chose to; the most extraordinary wizard alive that could have given him the world and more – and the redhead had pushed him away for him, for Draco, and he kept him at the distance to this day, to be with him.

He chose him and Draco was angry at him simply because there was a choice to begin with. Like Ron could help it. The redhead couldn’t help it that he drew people to himself like a magnet, he couldn’t help being the owner of the deepest bluest eyes in existence one could drown in, he couldn’t help it if his laughter was forever present and had a way of rumbling through the Universe until none of the darkness seemed quite so grave, he couldn’t help having a smile that melted down everyone’s defences and left people dazed and spellbound by him.

He knew it was his own fucking fault and yet he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t apologize, he was a fucking stuck-up Malfoy to the bone and they didn’t do apologies. So he just did the next best thing and he grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him roughly, as if he wanted to punish him for even having such insane thoughts.

“There’s no one,” he told him in a strangely strangled voice, when he finally felt his mouth grow sloppy and the silken tongue brushed against his lips, testifying of surrender. “No one but you… never was… never could be… god, fucking god, Ron, what are you…? A fucking incubus, that’s what you are, my beautiful… ginger… rock-hard god… Motherfuck, if I knew quarrelling turned you on so, I would have fought you time ago… every time… all the time… cause this is what I need from you… this fire between your legs… this insane body no one else could ever have… you’d put any Quidditch star to shame with this incredible arse… do you even know how good you look? Do you have any idea how… _you don’t_ , no, you don’t, how could you… you don’t get to fuck yourself, you don’t know how it feels… fuck, baby…  you need to fuck me now… now, Ron, _nownownow_ … motheroffuckinggod, yesssss!... please… there, baby, right there… god, there… nail… this gorgeous… crazy… fat cock… into me… that’s right, _ohfuckingheaven, Ron_ … you know I love you… you know… you must… you… only you… please… tear me apart, baby… please… release me… let me come... oh, godgodgodgod, _ohhhh_ …!!!”

He came to a muffled howl twisted into a helpless growl and Ron’s teeth sinking inside his shoulder, spiking his release with pain, just the way he loved it and as he lay boneless underneath him, he told him, whispered in his ear as if confessing his one big dirty secret:

“If I _ever_ find you with someone else, I’ll fucking _murder_   them. _For real_. No questions asked, no time to explain, no remorse. We belong to each other, no one else. There’s no one else, there can’t be.”

And when the head covered in that beautiful silken, liquid fire hair drove a little closer into his shoulder almost as if it wanted to merge with him, he felt the soft plush mouth lick gently at the injured skin and Ron whispered quietly: “Thank you.”

And if it was possible, he loved him just a bit more from that day on.

And now with his obsession at full rage, he was just one day from coming face to face with the world he tried so hard to ignore, the world in which Ron spend six out of the seven days of the week, the world which held him with a million and one ties – and Draco knew he’d have to choose very carefully which ones to break and which to leave intact in order to keep his man. And perhaps… if there was a chance of more… he would sink his teeth right in it. This was _his_ Ron and he’s been getting ready for this day for the past eleven years.


	23. Treacherous... eyes

“He’s got _your_ eyes! How the fuck has he got your eyes, Ron!?”

Words landed among them as if someone deposited a load of heavy stone in the middle of a fancy living room. Heavy, destructive, unforgiving.

 In the end it was Harry who had said them. Not Hermione. Hermione was just standing there looking flabbergasted and wide-eyed, but Harry was… Harry couldn’t hold it back; in fact, he could barely keep it civil for long enough for hyper-excited Rose to grab a smiling and apologetic looking Scorpius Malfoy by the hand and drag him away in search of Albus.

And somehow Harry saying it had made it all worse.

~

It was Rose who had spotted the Malfoys first, she had been on the lookout for them ever since they arrived, eager to finally introduce her friend Scorpius to her family. She had been trying to persuade her dad for _years_ to let “Scorp” visit, but somehow he always came up with one excuse or another and even Uncle Draco, who spoilt her rotten on every occasion he got and indulged her every barely hinted wish, was strangely reluctant to allow his son into the custody of the Weasley family home.

“I don’t think it’s such a grand idea,” he refused her time and time again, though kindly. “I’m afraid we had our differences in our time, your mother and your uncles. I don’t think he’d be welcome at this occasion. Perhaps another time.”

Rose had heard enough of the family history to know that Uncle Draco found himself on the wrong side of the dreadful war she never saw, because it was a million years ago, ages before she was even born, but it must have been a terrible one indeed, because it had left Uncle George the only surviving one of what were once notorious twins and Uncle Harry’s godson Teddy Lupin an orphan. She also found out that her dad and Uncle Draco had once been bitter enemies and Merlin knows they still bickered all the time, though these days there was no real malice in their attitude towards each other.

But for some obscure reason her dad never stalled or tried to change her mind when she asked to see her favourite Uncle – even though mommy said he wasn’t even her real Uncle, but just daddy’s partner at work, but she had no other name for him, he was one of the first people she clearly remembered and just _always there…_ Nope, she only had to mention Uncle Draco to dad and he would fire-call and before you knew it, they were already on their way to meet him.

Rose _loved_ her Uncle Draco. He was just the prettiest, the kindest uncle there was. He was always so well behaved, he always smelled _wonderful_ and he spoke softly and kindly – not like some of Rose’s other uncles, who were, save for Uncle Harry, a really loud bunch! – and he would always bring her presents and called her Princess. For the longest time she told anyone who was willing to listen that she was going to marry him when she’s all grown up like mommy and she was heart-broken when mommy explained that Uncle Draco already had a wife.

“But we never see her, daddy and I,” she had told her. “How do you even know he has one?”

Then mommy had taken her to a big building with shelves and shelves of books, books galore, books everywhere one looked, and she asked the lady to bring them an old newspaper – and there it was: an old frail yellowish picture of Uncle Draco holding a very pretty lady around the waist most elegantly and smiling most blissfully at…

“Mom, look, there’s daddy!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise and pointed at the tall redheaded figure by Uncle Draco’s side, holding his gaze. “Why is he so sad? And where were you?”

“I don’t think your dad was sad,” her mom had laughed, looking at all the wonderful new books greedily and paying almost no attention to the picture. “I think he was rather annoyed that he had to be there and to this day I don’t know why Malfoy… why Draco decided to invite him – perhaps just to rub him the wrong way, they’re always pushing each other’s buttons, even to this day. Very _mature_ , those two, your dad in particular. NOT,” mom had rolled her eyes up and then kissed the top of her fiery unruly hair and answered the rest of her question:

“And I, my darling, was very ill that day, because a certain young lady in my belly gave me a lot of trouble, so I couldn’t attend. No matter, I think your dad might have been grumpy enough for both of us!” she gave another laugh and Rose looked at the picture one more time.

Regardless of how many times her mom had said it, daddy really didn’t look grumpy – she knew his grumpy look, his nose turned up and there was a wrinkle between his eyebrows – but here his lovely eyes, Rose’s eyes, shone softly, all big and blue, and he kept looking at the floor and back to Uncle Draco as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. And she knew the smile Uncle Draco wore very well: he always greeted her and daddy with it and the happiness seemed to glow subtly from his narrow pretty face...

Rose sighed sadly.

So Uncle Draco _really_ had a wife and if she made him smile like this, then he must have loved her very much. She would ask him about her next time, she decided, she wanted to be just like her... in case Uncle Draco ever changed his mind. Always be prepared, her mom taught her.

“Uncle Draco, why don’t we ever meet your wife?” she asked him next time she was safely harboured in his lap, making a plait out of his loose blond strands. She felt his muscles go stiff underneath her, but only for a moment, while her dad frowned and suddenly paid her a most peculiar look of concern.

“Well, my wife, lady Astoria, is very busy, you see,” explained Uncle Draco calmly. “She has tea-parties to uphold, our rather grand household to run, she travels a great deal and she’s very busy raising our son, Scorpius.”

“You have a son?!” Rose couldn’t hide her awe. Here she was, spending every week in Uncle Draco’s company and she never knew…

“I most certainly do,” confirmed Uncle Draco most proudly and then added rather unexpectedly: “Would you like to meet him, then?”

“Malfoy….” Her dad interfered and she knew he must have been irritated by her cheeky blond Uncle, because he would only call him by his surname when it was followed by scolding of some sorts. But this time she didn’t give him a chance, this opportunity was too good to pass upon!

“Oh, _yes_ – yes _please_! That would be _wicked_! May I daddy, _please, please_!? I really want to, I really do!”

And after her dad’s eyes darted for a while from her pleading baby blues to Uncle Draco’s grey ones, sparkling with mischief, he finally rolled up his eyes and mumbled something unintelligible, which probably meant some sort of a grumpy consent – but she was too elated to care if it did or if it didn’t.

“Yuppee!!!” she exclaimed happily. “Now - can we go _now_?! Please, daddy, please!”

“Well, certainly not _now_ , Rosie!” Uncle Draco laughed at her enthusiasm with that warm rare laughter he gave when he was genuinely entertained. “Scorpius is at my mother’s place on Thursdays, feeding the peacocks and riding a pony, he won’t be disturbed, not without beforehand announcement, he won’t. Perhaps another day.”

“You have peacocks?! And ponies?!” Her eyes got as big as galleons. “I should very much like to ride a pony, may I, daddy?!” She was – technically speaking – looking at her dad, but pressing her head softly, persuasively against her Uncle, knowing very well that he could barely deny her a thing when she pleaded like that - and somehow she knew once _he_ gave permission, her dad will yield.

And Uncle Draco saw through her childish game and laughed in genuine and kissed her cheek, deciding warmly:

“And so you shall. The peacocks, the ponies, the whole lot – and my son. I hope you shall be great friends. Did I ever tell you that your dad here was his godfather? No? It must have slipped my mind, then. Yes, _exactly_ like Uncle Harry is to Teddy Lupin. Wonderful, isn’t it? Shall we say tomorrow, then?”

And Rose could barely put her eyes together that night from all the excitement. She was going to meet a new friend - Uncle Draco’s son at that! – and she couldn’t wait to tell Albus and James she finally had a friend they couldn’t share. And when the next day came, Rose was not disappointed.

The peacocks were beautiful and regal and riding a pony was fantastically scary if you’ve never done it before – but it was really Scorpius Malfoy who was all that and more. If she cherished her Uncle Draco for as long as she could remember, she positively fell _in love_ with his son. When he approached her on a flawlessly white pony - riding all by himself like a proper adult! – he was an apparition of everything majestic, beautiful and grand about this place. The long blond hair running down his back caught all the light of the sunshine behind his back and it seemed as if he was glowing – an angel, if there ever was one.

She stared at him open-mouthed, suddenly feeling small and insignificant, and he carefully stopped his pony in front of her and looked at her with most astonishing, strangely familiar blue eyes:

“You must be Rose Weasley,” he said kindly, his voice strong and sounding somehow noble, every bit like Uncle Draco. And when she nodded, mute and awed, he smiled at her most blissfully, a smile that started somewhere inside his lovely eyes and that one, too, seemed familiar... Then he proceeded to offer her his hand:

“Pleased to meet you, Rose Weasley. I’m Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and this is my horse Sleipnir. Would you like to take a ride with me around the property?”

And when she nodded again, completely flabbergasted, her Uncle Draco quietly lifted her on the back of the pony to sit behind his beautiful son and Rose buried her face into his warm silken hair that smelled of summer and roses. She then wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and closed her eyes. She could stay like this forever.

“Here we go,” he warned her confidently and she wasn’t afraid, not even one bit, when the animal moved and took them with a slow pace around the beautiful gardens of the Malfoy Manor.

“Like father, like daughter,” she had heard her dad say quietly, incomprehensively, to Uncle Draco and as they were slowly moving away she opened her eyes only to catch a most peculiar sight of Uncle Draco brushing his hand against her dad’s terrifically gently, just a passing touch, accompanied by a soft “ _Ron, don’t…_ ” – but she didn’t understand any of it and it was beside the point because this, sitting behind this pretty angel boy, kind and beautiful and hers only, was too exquisite and by the time she got home, she had forgotten all about Uncle Draco’s sad, hungry eyes when he looked at her dad, because her mind was full of one image only, one boy she could see even if she closed her eyes: Scorpius Malfoy, her perfect new friend.   

It was not all they did that day – they also went to feed the beautiful elegant swans in the large pond the garden boasted, they had a picnic on the blanket under an ancient oak tree, complete with strawberries and cream and tiny little pastries that were only a mouthful each but there was a small million of them and Scorpius had shown immense interest in the world of Muggles Rose was quite familiar with. It was a perfect day and Rose fell asleep in her dad’s arms on her way back with a big happy smile on her face and managed to entirely miss the scolding her mom gave dad over their late arrival.

After that day dad no longer objected when she wanted to see Scorpius – but in the end it was her mother who drew a line after one such glorious day, arguing in a raised voice that they were spending almost as much time at the Malfoys’ than at the Burrow and it just wasn’t _proper_... Knowing her resolute mom, Rose was convinced right then and there that this was the last she had seen of Scorpius Malfoy – and she hadn't even managed to say her proper goodbyes! But while she stood there, looking utterly miserable and frozen, her dad unexpectedly decided that the issue was worth arguing and crossed his big scarred arms on his chest defiantly:

“I believe I have a say in that, Hermione! I am the boy’s godfather after all and Scorpius is a good boy, not even remotely alike Draco at this age. I’ll have you know Rosie is very fond him and he loves her right back. He’s very bright and kind and treats her right, not teasing her all the time like Jamie and Albus do – and _let’s not even lose words_ over Hugo, the little scoundrel! Those two - they’re great friends. I don’t think he has too many; you know the Malfoys – always thinking they’re too good for anyone else – but I won’t see my godson grow up lonely and I’m fairly certain Scorpius won’t give our Rosie up, he’s got a heart in the right place, that little boy.”

And he had said it with so much pride and conviction that it had somehow shut his mother up and she didn’t bring the issue up again. Besides, as her Uncle Harry always said with a sigh: one would have to be _raving mad_ to argue a Weasley once they had made their mind up, the bull-headed lot, every last one of them...

But though her dad still wouldn’t let Scorpius visit for years after that – that, too, was finally about to change. He’ll _have_ _to_ let Rose introduce her friend to her family now, on the Platform 9 3/4, there was no going around it, and once they see how _perfect_ Scorp was, Rose was sure he would be allowed to visit in spite of her father’s bizarre objections and curious evasions.

Though she had been initially a bit worried that all of the sudden she will no longer be Scorpius’s only friend, but just one of many; that perhaps Scorpius, all in all a proper boy, would find out he had more in common with her cousin Albus than herself – she also came to recognise that she was just bursting at the seams to show Albus that Scorpius was not merely a figment of her imagination, as he often teased her, but all in all a real person - and a _fabulous_ one at that!

She knew that Albus must have been curious about her mysterious friend, even though he’d rather eat his tongue than admit it; after all, she found out from Lily that he tried to pry some information out of Hugo, but her oblivious baby brother apparently only shrugged and mumbled _“I suppose he’s alright, he’s like us, really...”_ – though no one could know for sure what the enigmatic little ginger meant by it.

But Albus wasn’t the only one curious. Hardly anyone had _ever_ met Scorpius Malfoy and even her mother along with the rest of her uncles had at one time or another tried probing her with questions about the reclusive boy. Which made Rose more eager than ever to introduce him to the lot of them, because regardless of how hard she tried to convey what it was that was making Scorpius Malfoy so “cool” and special, she knew there was no way in the world her words could do him justice – they just _had to_ meet him. And now they would.

~

Having arrived waaaaaay too early, thanks to her super-cautious “ _better safe than sorry_ ” mom, the kids have scattered around the station to find and greet their friends, but Rose stayed put at her parents’ side and looked around hawk-eyed so there was no chance she would miss the Malfoys when they arrived, nope, no chance at all. Her mom was chatting to Aunt Ginny as if they didn’t see each other every other day and Uncle Harry was busy answering a million and one question Lily had about the life at Hogwarts and a ride there. And her dad just stood there uncommonly pale and quiet, but Rose was too high-strung to take any notice of that; perhaps he had just eaten something wrong... They were going to be here any moment... and _there_ they were!

As soon as she had spotted the impeccably clad tall figure of Draco Malfoy and a lean blond boy by his side, followed by forever cool and elegant lady Malfoy, she gave a happy cry and immediately began waving frantically, until her mom grabbed her by the shoulder horrified and reprimanded her that this was, indeed, _"no behaviour befitting a young lady"_! But Scorpius had already spotted her, gave a short wave with his hand, notifying her that her efforts to attract his attention had been noticed and then proceeded to address his father who finally nodded and Scorpius Malfoy unglued himself from the company of his parents and approached them.

And the closer he came the merry company made up of her parents and the Potters turned quieter, almost as if they were getting ready for an impact, but Rose didn’t care because she had just noticed that Hugo - the terrible spoilsport and a complete brat! – had somehow managed to drag Albus off to some unknown location and her favourite cousin was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, blast... where is Albus? Don’t tell me you left him alone with Hugo again!?” she whined, unable to mask disappointment in her voice and only now did the adults become aware that notoriously mischievous “terrible-two” were, indeed, missing.

With a barely muffled vicious remark regarding the Potter junior and his accomplice, her Aunt Ginny finally sighed dejectedly and begrudgingly walked away in search of them, Lily in tow. Judging by the annoyed nervous look on her high-strung face Rose knew the two hapless delinquents could count themselves lucky if they managed to get away with mere scolding.

As soon as Scorpius reached them, his tall lean figure making slow, measured, in every way graceful steps, Rose squealed happily and tore out of her mother’s hand to greet him. She took his hand without reservation and he let her, and when she looked up into his face – way up, because he was already much taller than herself - he offered her a sincere heart-stopping smile, the way only he knew how, springing to life from the very bottom of those lovely, impossibly blue eyes, and leaned down to kiss her cheek:

“Hello, Rose!” he said warmly. “I’m ever so glad you’re here, I’m sure I would have been quite lost without you. All these people… I’m afraid it’s all quite beyond me.”

“Oh, you’ll be alright, silly, don’t worry. I’m related to half of them anyway and the other half is just here to see Uncle Harry, the reporters and the lot… Speaking of which – come, you must finally meet the rest of my family - though I’m afraid we’ll have to go looking for Albus. It seems my idiot brother managed to drag him somewhere under this pretence or another, probably hoping he will miss the train. I swear he’s all but in love with him, he actually tried to persuade mother to write the Headmistress McGonnagall and have him admitted a year early, imagine that!” she rolled-up her eyes at the thought of her cunning little ginger brother who always followed Albus around like a shadow, quietly, faithfully, and had a special talent for bringing out the worst in Harry Potter’s son.

Without ever letting go of his hand, Rose turned Scorpius around resolutely and carefully manoeuvred him to the spot where what was left of her family awaited. She stopped right in front of "the Golden Trio", as the newspapers still referred to Uncle Harry and her parents after all these years. In her excitement she entirely missed the all but unhinged jaws of Uncle Harry and her mom and smiled happily at her dad instead. A head taller than the rest, Ron Weasley looked pale and uncommonly sombre, almost a bit lost, but when he looked at his daughter and her companion, he couldn't hold back a small tired smile that made him look strangely vulnerable and proud at the same time.

“Look who I got!” she said merrily, and swung their intertwined hands back and forth as if sporting a trophy, tilting her head gently towards the blond boy’s shoulder as if she was about to lean on it. She wasn’t aware what a lovely, startling pair they made: herself with a flaming cloud of hair going all the way down to her waist, surrounding her with a glow of fiery halo - and him, a tall, incredibly handsome boy with long blond hair, so undeniably a Malfoy that no introductions were necessary... except for those eyes. Their eyes. Both pairs brilliantly blue, surrounded  by the long thick auburn eyelashes, exactly the same heavenly blue shade, identical. The same eyes. Ron’s eyes.

And it was Ron who reached out first to push aside a loose strand of Scorpius’s hair and brushed the side of his cheek with his big calloused hand.

“Hey, Scorpius,” he said warmly and unexpectedly his big irresistible arm pulled both kids closer and they ended up crowded together in his big bear hug, pressed against each other and his massive body, smiling from ear to ear. Ron completely ignored Rose’s embarrassed squeal “ _Dad!!!_ ” and, acting as if there was no one else to consider, he leaned down and kissed each on top of their heads.

“And how are my kids today?” he asked, the fake cheerfulness in his voice barely standing against the quiver in his voice.  “Excited, I trust! Make sure Hogwarts still stands when you’re done with it, yeah? I need some place to institutionalize Hugo next year, I fully expect him to turn raving mad during a whole year without Albus!”

“Speaking of the devil,” Rose mumbled into his chest. “You didn’t happen to see Albie by any chance, did you? The train would be leaving in half an hour and Hugo made him disappear again. I’d like him to meet Scorpius here and then we better board the train if we’re to get any free compartment to stretch our legs. I doubt James would be willing to save us some space, he probably wants to hang out with his idiot friends!”

“Just like your mom, always worrying,” Ron sighed, though not unkindly and reluctantly let them go. “Go on, then, make the introductions quickly and then be on your way, something tells me you have a much better chance of finding the two scoundrels than your Aunt Ginny!”

And Rose didn’t need to be told twice.

“Mom, Uncle Harry, this is Scorpius Malfoy, dad’s godson and my _very best_ friend,” Rose all but glowed, uncommonly oblivious to the obvious shock reflecting on the faces of the two remaining adults – she was just too happy to pay much attention.

“And this, Scorp, is my mom Hermione - ” at this point Hermione Granger moved closer as if on auto-pilot and somehow managed a short “ _Hello, Scorpius, pleased to meet you…_ ” without ever moving her alert eyes from studying his face and one could just _see_ her magnificent mind going 100 miles a minute.

“And I’m sure you’ve heard of this man, he is a legend in his own right,” Rose smiled sweetly and looked at her uncle fondly. “Scorpius Malfoy, meet Harry Potter, my uncle and the living breathing centre of the Universe wherever he goes – at least according to the press,” she winked naughtily, while Scorpius Malfoy extended his arm and spoke warmly without reservation:

“It is immense pleasure to meet you, Sir. It’s not every day that you meet a person right out of the history text books and I’ve been looking forward to this day for ages. My father told me to be on my best behaviour, so I’m perfectly sure he meant for me to impress you. I’m aware that you were not great friends in your days, but Rose and I set out to settle that unfortunate score and perhaps turn a new page in the history of our families.”

And the history came very nearly to repeating itself, because Harry Potter’s arm hung limply at his side, not caring about the offered hand, hardly hearing a word of what the boy had said while he stared down those familiar eyes in disbelief... But finally some inherent impulse of decency kicked in and he grabbed the boy’s hand hastily and squeezed it firmly almost as if he needed to check if he was real and he barely managed a few meaningless polite words, his mind lost and scattered all over the place, his eyes still all but glued onto his face:

“So glad to meet you, Scorpius. I’m sure my children will be delighted to make an acquaintance with any friend of Rose’s…”

What would have surely turned into an awkward situation, was mercifully interrupted by Rose’s enthusiastic: “Oh, look, Scorp, there’s Albus! Come, you must meet him at once!”

And she pulled her best friend behind her without minding his hand, still resting in the palm of Harry Potter’s hand.

“My appologies, it seems this is an emergency,” managed the blond boy with a big apologetic smile on his pretty face before he was dragged away and Ron was finally left to face his wife and his best friend alone.

The silence that lay down on them was heavy, thick like a moist autumn mist, but Ron was only allowed a moment of its mercy. The kids were barely out of the ear-shot when Harry erupted:

“He’s got _your_ eyes! How the fuck has he got your eyes, Ron!?”

And Ron just sighed and closed those blasted eyes that got him into so much trouble.

~

He knew this was coming, he just thought it was going to be Hermione and perhaps, she would be discrete – but this was Harry and Harry wasn’t holding back.

All the countless hours he spent gnawing on it in his mind amounted to nothing – he had no answer to give to his best mate, not a truthful one, at least. And Harry spitting out the question, all that rage in his voice, the hurt in those gorgeous green ponds he would love to love if things were different, if he wasn’t cursed with this impossible feeling of need, greed and yearning for a person who didn’t even want him whole-heartedly... it devastated Ron.

At least he had given Hermione something during all these years; a comfortable home, a loving family, his hand in marriage, all carefully wrapped in a glossy impenetrable foil of glorious lies – but he knew he had made her happy nevertheless and he wasn’t sorry.

 _But Harry_... his Harry, the Harry he would gladly give his life for even this very day – he had given him nothing, absolutely nothing... Nothing but neglect, when he caught the yearning in the green eyes feasting on his face when he thought Ron wasn’t looking; nothing but excuses, if not flat out lies, when his best-mate craved more of his time, more of him - and rejection, always rejection, time and time again, one cruel rejection after another, every bloody time when the raven-haired youth couldn’t help spilling his feelings and he stole an odd kiss... or two... from time to time... A kiss Ron confessed to Draco about but couldn’t admit to how painfully sorry it had made him feel not to be able to return it, because it had a flavour of all things good and Harry and he could just taste Harry’s feelings in it...

And now it was finally here, before them, an ultimate proof of his betrayal and his stomach turned and his heart squeezed in his chest painfully at the wild sound of Harry’s livid raw voice.

“Bloody hell, Ron... how’s that even possible?! He’s yours, isn’t he? But how could he be, he’s a fucking Malfoy, he walks and talks and looks... he even _smells_ like his bloody father! Talk to me, goddamn you, what the hell have you done?!”

And Ron opened his eyes, because he couldn’t bear it; he couldn’t bear a chance of more lies, a presence of heavy guilty silence neglecting such a big and important part of his life, reducing it to nothing. Harry at least deserved the truth and he needed to say it to his face.

“He’s mine...” he confessed and at the sight of his wife’s flabbergasted face he quickly added: “In a way, he is... He’s... Draco and I...”

“Well, hello, _Potter_!” came a calm cool voice behind his back and Draco Malfoy just stood there, smiling pleasantly, as if the angry hostile looks Ron’s wife and his best-mate propelled at him couldn’t affect him at all. “I take it you met my son. I hope he behaved impeccably, it wouldn’t do to offend the Saviour with an inappropriate attitude.”

“Bugger off, Malfoy!” hissed Harry, but then his feverish and stormy green eyes suddenly narrowed and he barked: “Or better, even – explain, you bastard, explain how it is, that your precious son, the son who’s _undoubtedly_  a Malfoy to the core, somehow ended up with Ron’s eyes!? I would know those eyes anywhere, don’t even _attempt_ a lie! What _fucked-up_ dark magic is this, you creep?! What have you done to him?!”

“I suggest you keep your volume down,” the blond offered coolly. “Or do you enjoy being the centre of attention a little too much? In that case, please, continue, by all means - do throw a fit and cause a juicy little scandal for us all, you’ve been out of the limelight – what? the whole of 5 minutes? – I’m sure you miss it already!”

“Harry,” Hermione put her hand on the fuming wizard’s shoulder calmingly, because as sour that made her feel, bloody Malfoy was right. They didn’t need the extra attention; they should do this somewhere else, if at all. Ron would definitely be easier to corner and to press for explanation than the haughty blond.

But Harry was unrelenting. Though he lowered a volume of his voice, the tone of it was still _murderous_ and he spelled out clearly, determinately:

“I want to know what this is. And I want to know _now_ , Malfoy!”

“So you haven't told him yet?" the blond looked at Ron questioningly, but Ron just shook his head:

"Haven't managed," he said curtly. "You interrupted us when I was about to."

"Very well,” shrugged the blond and turned towards the hated raven-haired Gryffindor. "I suppose I might as well do it."

He looked his rival straight in the eye and spoke in a leisurely tone:

“There isn’t much time, so I’ll just give you the gist of it. My son was born prematurely and his life was in danger, he couldn't seem to breathe on his own. When nothing else helped, my mother thought of Weasley, having connections with the Muggle world. Now - my mother would never own up to it, but she realizes some of the Muggle inventions are downright brilliant and she figured out - since all my skills as a Healer or my magic were clearly not going to be enough to keep my son alive - that anything was better than losing the next heir of the Malfoy house. So she went and fetched him, in the middle of the night, she did, lest it was going to be too late. The Mud-, Granger here can attest to that, I’m surprised no one bothered to tell _you,_ " he gave a slow,sly, most disdainful smile as if he wanted to make clear that, in his opinion, informing him was far from necessary.

When he saw Potter go even a shade paler, he was satisfied with the effect of his words and continued:

"Of course Weasley came, bare feet, barely clad, he came to save my baby - _in the middle of the bloody night!_ \- Potter. Because that’s what partners do... and because he knew I had no one else to ask. Still a full-blooded Gryffindor, this one, even after all these years. He brought a book from his wife’s library describing a proper procedure and he broke into a Muggle hospital to bring us the substance and the accessories my son needed to breathe – all of it, for _my_ son. And it worked, just like I knew it would as soon as I saw him. I couldn’t do this alone, but with him, I could.

But to complete a procedure Weasley had to hold my son on his chest, I didn’t trust anyone else to do it. He had him right there, on top of his heart, keeping him warm and alive with his heart-beat, healing him with his touch and with whatever magic he could spare –  and that’s when it must have happened.

With my son so vulnerable and Ron giving so much, his magic must have spilled somehow, because when my little boy finally opened his eyes, they were the most brilliant colour of blue... Don’t ask me _why_ it had happened, I can’t give you an answer to that,” – _though I long to_ , he thought to himself bitterly - “but it did and that’s the whole story. After my mother had seen her grandson alive and marked by those astonishing eyes, she had no reservation of asking Weasley to be his godfather. My mother has a gift of seeing people’s magic, you see – that’s how she knew you weren’t dead that time in the Forbidden Forest, Potter – and she saw their signatures align. So you see, this is how it came to be that there’s a bit of Weasley in this Malfoy – it almost made my father cry, actually – and certainly not from joy!”

He allowed them all to breathe, to exhale a quiet sigh of relief that this, perhaps, wasn't going to be so bad after all - and then he went straight for the jugular.

“But do tell me again, _Potter dear_ -” he bore his steely grey eyes into the fuming green ones “- what _exactly_ are you accusing your best mate of? Betraying you? With what? Helping to heal a child of a person in need; the son of the man whom he trusts _daily_ with his life? The _only_ son this desperate father here would ever have? Should he have _refused_ so you could feel more secure and cemented in your _exclusive_ friendship?! Would you let a child _die_ to feel better about your precious relationship with your best mate, hm? It’s not like he _cheated_ on you, did he now? He’s _not yours_ to have, you know, he has a wife, and I don’t see _her_ complaining!” he threw a poisoned arrow straight at his heart and watched him go pale.

“Malfoy...” Ron interfered, cause he couldn’t stand to see the bottomless well of pain reflecting in the legendary green eyes of his best mate. But Draco would not be swayed. He was here to tell this greedy man here, _the usurper_ , that he did not own Ron, that he had no right to him and say it he would! He was nothing, a nobody compared to his man and he should be counting his stars Ron was willing to spend any time with him at all, the bloody four-eyed git that he was, shouting at him like that, as if the redhead owed him something!

“If anything, you should finally start looking up to him, you self-absorbed snot!” he barked at his arch-enemy, undeterred.  “You’re not the only one who saves lives around here, you know, and some of us do it without getting any credit for it. What Weasley did that night was precious, priceless and I owe him to hell and back, a life debt, and I will not have you abuse him with your temper!”

The last words were spit out in such a vicious Malfoyian voice that Harry’s hand reflexively jumped towards its holder.

“Oh, for _Merlin’s sake_ , put that away, Potter!” Draco smirked at him with cold disdain. “What are you, 17?! Are you going to throw another _Sectumsempra!_ at me in front of all these people, in front of your children, for that matter? Everyone knows you’re the better wizard of the two of us, but it seems only one of us bothered to grow up!”

“Malfoy... Draco, _enough_!” Ron interfered once again, this time adamantly, and took a step forward, grabbing onto the blond’s shoulders, deliberately putting himself between him and Harry’s wand.

“Draco, is it?” hissed Harry Potter, for once completely raw with all the rage and confusion and punching shock this day held for him. “Since when do you call bloody Malfoy _Draco_ , Ron? All these years and this git is still complete undiluted poison! I won’t have you turn my best friend against me, do you hear me, you skinny slime!? I’ll talk to Chief Kingsley first thing in the morning and I’ll break you up, I swear I will, you should have never been paired together in the first place what a fucked up idea was that anyway?”

Draco's eyes went storm-dark in rage, but this time it was Ron who turned towards his best mate and looked him in the eye calm, unflinching.

“You’ll do no such thing. We are a good team and just because you two still have your differences, you can’t just push me around at will, Harry - I could get hurt. He’s a good Healer, the best we have, and my life depends on him daily, just like he said. We’ve been a team for well over 10 years now and I know him like the back of my hand – and I trust him. I call him Draco because you can’t do this job without a certain level of camaraderie. I will keep him as my partner – or I will quit.”

And one could almost literally see Harry Potter’s heart sink to the ground.

“You wouldn’t do that... Does he really mean that much to you?” he looked at his best mate heart-broken, pale as a sheet, but for once Ron didn’t back off:

“He does,” he confirmed solemnly, adamantly and cemented what he was saying in a voice that left no room for doubt: “He’s all that and more for me out there, when I need him.”

And Draco’s heart soared at those words as if Ron had just flat out admitted he loved him. He looked at him bright eyed, barely able to hold back a blissful smile – so what the redhead said next felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water over him.

“But that doesn’t change anything between us, Harry,” Ron rambled on, without ever looking at his shocked lover. “It shouldn’t, anyway… You heard what happened, how it came to be that his son comes with my eyes, I’m prepared to swear on Fred’s grave what he told you was the truth – and please, just... don’t let this ruin what we have. Please, mate… calm down for fuck’s sake, you look like you're about to faint... just... let me talk to him in private, you two did always rub each other the wrong way. 5 minutes, Harry, it’s all I need.”

The redhead stared into the green eyes, moist with barely held back tears of indignation, until he saw Harry close them and give the tiniest of nods, the look of devastation never leaving his face.

Ron turned towards Draco and grabbed him by the upper arm:

“With me,” he said curtly and without bothering to go far, he just pushed him behind the wall separating the two platforms, so they were barely out of sight and threw a silencing charm over them.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed at him, but the blond was not giving up any ground.

“I thought you weren’t going to lie!” he squeezed through the gritted teeth, because he was angry enough to sink them into that beautiful long neck and cut him open.

“And I wasn’t!” Ron yelled. “Every word I told them was the truth, every last one. But if I remember correctly I also promised to protect you, your reputation, everything we’ve worked for in this travesty of our lives. And you’re making it _bloody hard_ , Malfoy!”

“God, you should see yourself how pathetic you are!” Draco erupted, still hurt and raw after he had come so close to winning Ron over. “Crawling after him, crawling before him, still _crawling_ after all these years! Merlin, you make me sick, I don’t know why I bother…”

“Because I don’t want to lose him, you twat!” growled Ron and sudden hurt in his voice was enough to curb Draco’s anger. “I’m already losing my daughter, next year it’s my son - why the fuck do you think it’s a good idea to take from me what little I have left, when you’re not giving me _anything_ in return!?”

And the blond went silent at these words. Of course, Ron didn’t know. He never knew the heir of the house of Malfoy came here willing to throw it all to the dogs for him, to be with him – he never knew, cause he didn’t tell him.... and right now, he wasn’t going to.

He was too hurt and angry to do so. He knew he was going to regret it later, he knew he was going to shout insults at the conceited lonely idiot in the mirror come this very evening – but he couldn’t do it. 11 years of hopes and dreams and careful planning behind him and it had come down to this: he couldn’t crawl. Not after he saw Ron clearly set on leaving the station with Potter. It just hurt too much.

So he bit the inner part of his lip until he draw blood just to keep in the angry boiling howls of possessive love and bitter hurt and called on all of his Malfoyian drill to keep his cool and not to shatter in front of him. Clinging on to his dignity with every last bit of strength he had left, he looked him straight in the eye and spoke coldly:

“I assume this conversation is over. Go, run back to your master, like a good puppy you are and don’t bother waiting for me this Thursday, I shall be… indisposed.”

He turned around, barely conscious of what he was doing, just to run away from this godforsaken place of his broken dreams and lick his wounds in private, when he was forcefully pulled backwards by one stretch of the massive scarred arm and a hissed “ _Goddammit, Malfoy... you pompous fuck... no, you don’t… Draco, no you don’t_ ” drowned in a long desperate kiss he needed more he could possibly fathom.

He found himself knocked into the brick wall painfully and Ron was kissing him right there and then, not caring for consequences, not caring about being found out. And before he knew it he was returning the kiss, obsessively, brutally, eager to hurt, because those lips wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I won’t let you do this to me, Draco,” the redhead whispered heatedly between those heavenly kisses born out of primal need and starved desire.

“I don’t care if my wife is only ten steps away... I don’t care if you think I’m just Harry’s lackey... I don’t care if you keep treating me as if I’m just a fuck... God, fucking god, Malfoy... what are we?... I don’t know anymore... I just know I can’t let you go without showing you what you do to me... how madly I want it... want you... want to be with you. You’re all I want, the rest is just smoke-screen... can’t you see? What will it take... for you... to get it into this beautiful... blond head of yours... that you don’t need to compete with Harry for me... there never was any competition. You’re the one I want. But I can’t have you, so...”

“What if you could?” Draco interrupted feverishly, finally finding his heart and the treacherous bastard over-rode his pride in one bold blow. “What if you could, Ron? What if...”

“Dad, have you... oh.”

And just because Draco was cursed that way, all of the sudden Hugo Weasley stood there, wide-eyed and stunned and somehow looking very vulnerable. And when the blond saw the hurt and scared look the little ginger gave him, he finally understood Ron’s words “ _don’t take what little I have left”_ – this was what Ron was risking to lose if their relationship ever came to light. He knew the Mudblood bitch would work tirelessly to take that away from him, just out of spite, just to make a point that he couldn’t have it all and he knew Ron couldn’t live with the feeling that he had let his children down.

So he moved forward like a lightning before his death-pale redheaded lover got a chance to speak to his son.

“You must never tell anyone,” he put his hands on child’s narrow shoulders and looked deeply into the striking blue eyes, so alike his father’s. “Never. Not anyone. I’m not here to take your dad away from you, I promise you that, but if you tell, that’s exactly what will happen. Your mother will make sure you never see him again. Your dad and I... we’re like you and your cousin Albus. Rosie said you two had a... special relationship. Unbreakable, she put it. Your dad and I are like that. One day, I will tell your mother myself - soon, very soon - but until then – you mustn’t. It’s not your secret to disclose. I’m sure you’ve got secrets of your own, boys your age always do, you wouldn’t like to have those spilled in front of the whole world either, would you now?”

He kept looking straight into his eyes, hoping to wrench the promise of silence out of him and he almost gave up hope when one long moment after another had passed and still Hugo Weasley stared at him unrelenting... until suddenly the blue eyes lit up with a smile the way only the eyes of Ron’s children ever did, shining like sapphires, and Hugo said quietly.

“Like Albus and I, then? Unbreakable... promise?”

“Yeah... I promise. Just like Albus and yourself. Unbreakable,” said Draco quietly, only now realizing that he had somehow stumbled upon a painful secret of an innocent heart unaware.

“Your secret is safe with me,” then said the little suddenly ginger resolutely as if he had reached a decision. And only when the bitter pang of regret suddenly broke through Draco’s heart, the blond Slytherin realized that a tiny part of him was stubbornly hanging on to hope that perhaps Hugo won’t agree to silence and it would all come to light...

But it was not to be, the moment had passed and Ron already pulled his son closer and hugged him fiercely in a quiet thank you, before he let him go and the little ginger walked away quickly, murmuring something about having to find Albus.

Ron looked at his blond lover with sad tortured eyes and spoke quietly: “I must go... I promised.”

And Draco just nodded and the only consolation he had for him floated right out of his mouth: “See you on Thursday, then...”

Ron gave a tired smile and before the blond could help it, he pulled him closer and stole one last kiss, whispering straight into his mouth with a voice full of regret: “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I wish it could be different.”

He let go off him abruptly after that as if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do so at all, if he stayed a moment longer and Draco knew he had to walk away alone, once again a loser, more so than Ron would ever know. He would return back to his empty home, now void of the only light it ever knew with Scorpius gone, and he would try to forget this miserable day, the horribly missed opportunity, the star-crossed moment they shared, and he would attempt to drown this misery of existence he had without Ron at the bottom of the finest Firewhiskey opened in centuries.

“C’mon, Harry... let’s just get the kids on that train and then I’ll let you drag me to the Leaky Cauldron and get me shitfaced, like you always do…” he heard Ron talk in a voice that was somehow robbed of all its usual cheerfulness and when he turned the corner, Potter was there, looking scarily pale and every bit derailed and it was a small consolation to the blond that it was all because of him.

 “Is he coming then?” Harry spit with venom and stared at the suddenly smirking blond across Ron’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter,” the blond burst out haughtily. “Your ginger _boy-toy_ is yours for the night,” he accentuated viciously and got a moment of dark pleasure out of seeing Ron wince. “I’ll see you in the morning, Weasley. Potter, treat him nicely, he’s _important_ to me!” he couldn’t help sinking in the poisonous blade of suspicion a little deeper in the heart of the green-eyed legend, who – at least for now – won their quiet tug-of-war, though he wasn’t aware of it.

He turned on his heel to leave while he had any dignity left, but he was suddenly stopped dead in his track by a quiet undecipherable voice of Hermione Granger Weasley:

“A word, Malfoy… In private, if you please.”

Draco rolled up his eyes with “ _Merlin, now what?!_ ” expression, but moved a few steps away, just far enough to put them out of immediate earshot, and offered in a bored dismissive voice:

“I don’t know what could there possibly be left to discuss, Granger. I told you, your husband has done nothing wrong and you can’t honestly expect me to give a rat’s behind if you believe me or not! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my son and say my goodbyes!”

“Oh, I have no doubt you told the truth,” Hermione said calmly, but somehow her controlled voice gave Draco the chills all of Potter’s raging about couldn’t. “It’s just… not the _whole_ truth, is it? Magic doesn’t just _spill_ , Malfoy, and I think there’s far more to this story than you’re sharing. It’s not just Ron’s eyes, your son’s got his smile, his tall figure… he may look like you, but he’s got _his_ character woven right into his bones, there’s no Malfoy in the world with such light and kindness in them! And that’s no ordinary healing magic, Malfoy!”

Draco suddenly had a heart in his throat and he had to bite his tongue not to tell her, not to spill it all and scream at her, that she was right, that what they had was no ordinary magic, but the most precious, powerful and richest magic out there - or perhaps not magic at all, but two people head over heels in love with each other for almost two decades and still going strong…

But she wasn’t finished yet:

“I’ve heard what you said, the _whole_ of it,” she spoke with a subtle underlying threat in her cool voice. “You kept calling my husband Weasley, but you slipped once and called him Ron – and once was _quite_ enough, thank you very much, I know how you really think of him! Then you said you had no one else to ask for help, you trusted no one else and that you could make it work with him and not alone... and then go on calling his eyes brilliant and astonishing and don’t object at all when your mother proposes him as your only child’s godfather... – have you been hexed or what?! Just what do you think my husband _is_ to you, Malfoy?!” she glared at him and this time he couldn’t stop himself.

He gave the biggest meanest smirk in his repertoire and said slyly: “That’s for you to find out, Granger. Good luck – and do share what you come up with, this could be… _interesting_. In any event, I could always use a good laugh.”

He turned around, grateful for the small victory in this hell of a day, and walked away, just to hear her bark in a hate-filled voice behind his back: “This is not the end of it, Malfoy. I’ll get to the bottom of this and Merlin help you if I find out something I shouldn’t. And Ron.”

And that just spilled over the cup of his frustration. He was at her side before she could wink: “He gave you the best years of his life!” he hissed with so much malice her eyes got the size of saucers. “ _You_. He gave it to you. Not Potter, not… anyone else. Never forget that. Hurt him and I’ll tear your life apart. No second thoughts.”

His eyes were silver and impossibly hard from this close up and it was obvious he had meant every word. But what Hermione Granger read at the bottom of them shook her up more than any threat could.

“How long?” she asked quietly, her voice suddenly shaken and free of malice, and he held her gaze for a moment longer before he replied firmly, with no pretence: “Since forever. You have no idea how long. Before you, before Potter, before he even knew. Before I did. Always.”

And he let go of her and left her with all the unanswered questions swirling around her head and turned around to walk towards his son he spotted at the edge of platform about to board the train.

The way his sweet boy hugged him made it really hard to hold back the tears on this over-whelming day, but just as he waved behind the departing train and watched the three heads – blond, ginger and raven-haired – slowly disappear from the view, sinking his heavy heart even deeper into the ground, a small hand slipped into his and there was Hugo Weasley, holding his hand, squeezing his fingers for dear life.

It was obvious the boy had been crying, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen and he was still sniffing softly. But he said nothing for the longest time, just held his hand like a life-line and finally asked quietly:

“Can I sleep over at your place tonight? Dad’s already gone with Uncle Harry and mom will be all sobby and cranky and my room is still full of the stuff Albie left behind…”

He seemed to have lost his train of thought after that and Draco found himself admiring the little ginger, putting on a brave face when he was clearly heart-broken. Ron didn't bring him over as often as he did Rose, but the few times he did, Draco has grown fond of the youngest Weasley child. He had a quiet resolute air about him and he never spoke much, but he knew from Ron's reports that he inherited his mother's magnificent brain, which he usually put to use for the most mischievous purposes. Together with Albus Potter they were as indestructible as the Weasley twins once were. But there was also a strangest vulnerability about him and he was such a perfect carbon copy of Ron that Draco couldn't help having a soft spot for his son. 

“They don’t understand!” the boy suddenly erupted. “They all make fun of me and Albie, they tease me, like they used to tease dad for being Uncle Harry’s shadow, but they don’t understand. He’s… we’re… he kissed me last night… on the cheek… and told me he’ll write every day, but I know he won’t, he never does, he’s so sloppy… He’ll get all these new friends and he’ll forget about me and next year I won’t matter anymore and he’ll be embarrassed to know me. If only I was a year older!”

His face suddenly pressed into Draco’s expensive robes and the blond could feel the moisture soaking through.

“Hey…” he said gently and dug his fingers deep into the silken ginger hair, so alike his father’s, and caressed softly while the bony shoulders shook with barely suppressed sobs. “Don’t cry…  how could you think he’d forget you? How could _anyone_ forget you? Unbreakable, remember?”

When the little tear-streaked face looked up to him and gave a little shy sad smile, he wiped his tears away gently with his thumbs and smiled sentimentally at the unexpected memory: “You know, I met your father for the first time on a day like this one. On the Hogwarts express, first day of school. And I _hated_ him from the second I set my eyes on him.”

He smiled cheekily again at the sight of impossibly big blue eyes staring at him in surprise and said quietly:

“We hated each other for years. Except it was never only hatred, at least not on my part. I never wanted any other person’s attention the way I wanted his. I needed to see him angry and those blue eyes ablaze; my day was not complete unless I saw him turn crimson at one vicious remark or the other aimed at his poverty, awkwardness, lack of self-esteem – and after that there would be a chance of a brawl when he would wrap around me and let me breathe in his warmth, the hot life surging against his skin, seeping right into me, making me feel warm and oh, so damn alive. Does Albus ever make you feel like that?” he asked him and noticed the familiar Weasley blush creeping up the boy’s neck when he nodded quietly.

“Yesterday... when he kissed me... I thought my head was going to blow up,” he admitted. “I was hot and my hands were shaking something crazy and I was all dizzy. And he just smiled at me, that perfect smile he has. He is... was always so nice to me and he’s so pretty, not like me, all scrawny and freckled and ginger... no one likes gingers,” he sighed miserably and Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing and embarrassing the poor boy.

“Well... I like one,” he offered kindly instead and it earned him a blissful smile that lit up the little ginger’s freckled face and made him even more alike his stunning father. “And I’ll have you know the Malfoys have impeccable taste. We only want the best and if I say gingers are the best, you better believe me! Albus... or anyone else you choose to give your heart to eventually, should be counting their lucky stars to have you!

And I’ll tell you another thing: if your father and I could overcome our differences, the centuries of hatred cemented between the Malfoys and the Weasleys and _everything_ that went wrong between us from the moment we met – then you and... whoever you choose are going to have a picnic!”

He saw him smile through his tears and all of the sudden he felt his face mirror that smile as he realized that somehow the little redhead helped heal his own shredded heart by giving him exactly the thing he was so used to receiving from his father: hope.

“Come,” he told him and offered his arm for support. “You must tell me how you imagined this, having a sleep over at my place, because I’m pretty sure you know there’s no way _in hell_ your mother would ever allow it – but I’m equally sure that if anyone, _you_ can come up with a feasible plan. Your reputation precedes you, Hugo Weasley! Your father always says that if anyone can change the colour of his hair, it is you - your antics are bound to turn it grey! And I’m willing to bet everything I own that Albus is sitting on that train right now, missing you - and all the mischievous things you do together - like crazy already!”

And _that_ had earned Draco a big genuine smile and Hugo Weasley had grabbed onto the offered arm firmly.

“You see, I was thinking…” he started.

~

When Draco Malfoy found himself sitting in front of a fireplace that evening, a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand and a ginger head of Hugo Weasley slumbering away peacefully in his lap, he was still busy rolling the frustrating day behind him in his mind, trying to figure out how it could have gone so horribly wrong and why.

Well, one of the “why”s was certainly his own arrogance and the steel grip of his bloody pride. Another was Ron’s total obliviousness of his feelings. His _true feelings_. Draco was fairly sure Ron knew he loved him; after all, he kept on saying it over and over again, at various occasions, though, granted, most of these occasions entailed him getting fucked out of his mind and screaming the words... But still. He knew.

But what he _didn’t_ realize was just how very much Draco was tired of all the pretence, how crazily infatuated with him he was and how far he was willing to go to finally own him, good and proper, in the light of day, in the face of the world and all that rot that went hand in hand with magnificent love such as theirs. Love like that should not be hiding in the dark obscure corners as if it was shameful and cursed – it should be out there, shining, blinding others with its lustre, inspiring songs and paintings, recognised and admired, glorified for all it was, for everything it had made them! After all these years of carrying around this poisonous obsession, his heavy heart, Draco was finally getting sick of doing all the right things. For once in his life he wanted to do something for that battered, bruised and fucking resilient love he had kept to himself for so long.

But their predicament remained the same as always: he could never openly acknowledge Weasley wasn’t just a fuck. Not then, not now. Not ever. Not openly. He could not be the one to make that first step. Stupid Malfoyian pride... He was just too proud to propose and Ron was too self-conscious to ever consider asking... so after a big gulp of the spicy liquid making his head spin pleasantly, Draco Malfoy decided that, perhaps, the time has come, to show him. Subtly, of course. Paint the map of his feelings and push that gorgeous, criminally oblivious ginger motherfucker in the right direction until it is the only direction left to choose. And then just ambush him. That sounded as good a battle plan as any. It might take months, years even, but Draco Malfoy was willing and ready to initiate a proper guerrilla combat for his man... even if perhaps a tiny bit _against_ his own will.

So when he woke up in the morning, stiff-necked and slightly hung-over and he still thought that was a good idea, he knew there was no other way for him. Time to go full-on Slytherin on the poor unsuspecting Gryffindor bugger he loved from the bottom of his heart.

He woke up Hugo Weasley just the way they had agreed, got him to dress quickly with a hint of possible owl mail from Albus and sent him down the Floo to the Burrow, where he was supposed to have spent the night before Draco intercepted him.

Then he made sure he got his proper grooming, he needed to feel impeccable for what he was about to do and looking perfect for the occasion had always made him feel as if he was up to it.

Then he joined his wife in the breakfast parlour, kissed her on the cheek like every morning when he took his breakfast in her company and asked her casually over a croissant and a cup of strong black coffee: “Astoria, darling... I was wondering: How would you like to be a free woman again?”

When his wife's confused look gradually transformed into one of disbelief, he explained almost matter-of-factly:

“You see, the fact is - I want a divorce.”


	24. Paving the road with pain... to make it count

“Malfoy, what on Merlin’s bloody Earth is this!?”

The front page of The Daily Prophet that landed with force on the table in front of Draco Malfoy boasted in fat thick letters:

_“The Malfoys: A scandalous end to the fairly-tale!!!”_

_Draco Malfoy rumoured to be divorcing his beautiful wife Astoria! - According to a source, close to the couple, the lovely lady already fled the Malfoy Mannor heart-broken and is healing her wounds on the continent – Full story continued on page 3 – For recap of the couple’s fairy-tale life caught on camera see pages 4 and 5_

“Oh, would you look at that! Looks like I’ve got the whole blasted edition to myself!” the blond smirked sarcastically, skipping through the pages of the newspaper with feigned interest. “Oh, look, there’s more of me: _All the sins of Draco Malfoy – is he really the devil incarnate? See page 10 for details_ – Page  10?? Really? Only? How shocking! And look there’s _How to escape an abusive relationship, page 12_ – they’ve really out-done themselves this time!”

He looked up into the fuming eyes of the deputy of the Minister of Magic Hermione Granger Weasley and smiled beatifically:

“And what, exactly, is your interest in my family life, Granger?”

“That’s Deputy Minister Granger- _Weasley_ to you, Malfoy, I suggest you show some respect!” she barked at him, uncommonly rough.

“Or else?” Draco said almost sweetly. “You’ll have me fired for not showing you proper respect? _You_? Even if it _is_ only me, people might still call you pompous and wonder if your pride was really _that_ hurt by a lack of proper addressing…  or - ” he added in a silken, almost matter-of-fact voice, as if it was only an afterthought: “ - perhaps they might say you’ve done it because I’m _fucking_ your husband...”

“ _What_ … _What_ did you just say!?”

Hermione had turned ashen white and she grabbed the top rail of the chair he was sitting on for support, lest she lose her footing.

“Me? Nothing… Just contemplating where your little… _investigation_ of how things stand between me and Ron might take you… Surely that _would_ be a popular option if your sniffing around ever comes to light, you must agree… Oh, for Merlin’s sake, woman, take a chair, I don’t want to have to resuscitate you!” he barked after he had glanced over her face in glee and noticed her ashen trembling lips.

Hermione indeed collapsed on the chair, her big brown eyes almost glued in horror onto the cruel narrow face.

“Oh, come-the fuck-on, Granger!” he moved closer to her across the table on his elbows to intimidate her – a very successful technique according his father. “You didn’t think your… research is actually going to consist of you coming at me with your magnificent authority and me falling down on my knees in tears, confessing to whatever you wanted to hear. Do your bloody job, woman - you’re supposed to be good at that – and I promise you that: if you do happen to come upon the truth, I will let you know… Slytherin honour,” he smiled slyly.

“Or… I could just ask Ron,” she unexpectedly said quietly as if her magnificent mind just broke the ice of his gleeful malice and Draco knew she was ten-fold more dangerous now than when she was shouting.

“Well, I suppose you could, couldn’t you?” he smiled with fake expression of enthusiasm. “Would that be the husband that you suspect of _lying_ to you for some time now? If he denies it all – would you believe him? Because – what possible motive could he have now to tell you the truth?”

“How about this?” she pointed towards the newspaper suggestively and awaited his reply with her sharp eyes trained on his face.

“Ah...” he smiled angelically and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I suppose _there is that_.”

And the sly smile he gave left no doubt of his intentions.

She leaned forward on her elbows towards him just like he did before and asked him clearly, looking straight into his grey eyes full of amusement:

“Are you putting yourself on the market for my husband, Malfoy? Is that what this is? An invitation? _Come and get me, I’m free for you now_... Is that how you propose to win him over? That’s laughable!”

She had a small satisfaction of seeing anger flash in the dark background of those lead-grey eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was void of this particular emotion.

“If you insist this is something of the kind... I’m not saying that it is – but speaking hypothetically, the answer is:  _No._ I suppose that would never do. It would not be enough for Ron. You’ve been married to the man for over a decade, you know the level of blindness he’s capable of, you know the depth of the pit in which to look for his self-esteem – he’d never consider this is about him. But it would certainly make him think and open his eyes about... _other options_. Still speaking strictly hypothetically, of course - if I was set on doing something as ridiculous as this _, win him over_ , as you put it, that would certainly be a good way to start, don’t you agree?” he looked at her sharply and smiled at her sweetly and she realized from up close, how very well he knew Ron, how many hours he must have spent studying him, how intimately he must have gotten connected with him some time during their decade together at work...

If it was only work... that thought was… well, _irritating_ didn’t really begin to cut it, more like deeply disturbing. Ron and Malfoy were recognised as the best of on-the-field teams who did a tough and ungrateful job and every such team was a closely knit unit of two highly-skilled people, so finely tuned to each other that their mutual understanding bordered on supernatural – the literally seemed to be able to read each other’s thoughts in order to cooperate efficiently (and some did, using legilimency on a regular basis). But that described every such team, not just them, though, admittedly, they were incredibly successful considering how poorly matched they seemed at first. Hermione never questioned the nature of their success and had she never met Scorpius Malfoy, she could have gone to her grave thinking that Draco Malfoy was merely her husband’s partner at work.

But clearly, there was more. And it scared her to think _how much_ more... All the time they spent together... _Always_ , Malfoy had said...

There were never any accusations of fraternization when it came to those two, none whatsoever, she was sure. She was in a position that she would have found out about those and if no one else, Harry certainly would have and after what she saw on Platform 9 3/4 there was no way in hell Harry would have ignored it. He would have split the mismatched team up in a blink and happily slip into Draco’s place. Harry was... her heart constricted when she thought of Harry.

Perhaps she should never have married Ron, she should have let Harry have him – anyone was better than Malfoy! But she had wanted him so... And she had made her call, one that had made Harry utterly miserable and in a long run she had made a right decision: she loved her life at Ron’s side, he had given her everything she ever wanted and she had to admit he went out of his way to accommodate her and her career ambitions, but still... _Harry_... and the naked raw despair she saw on his face when he was faced with Malfoy junior... the quiet yearning in his eyes when he thought no one was looking and his eyes wandered towards Ron and just _fed_ on him... the hungry hands he couldn’t keep to himself when he got drunk and finally had an excuse... the face that just lit up in joy when he looked at her incredibly handsome husband... She could never be jealous of Harry, if anything, he made her feel insanely guilty, guilty as hell!

But she had no such reservations when it came to Draco Malfoy. _Always_ , he had said. Before her, before Harry, before either of them knew. Two decades of unrequited love, then... she should have been sorry for the man. And yet the very thought of those long aristocratic fingers anywhere near her husband’s skin made her hair stand on end and her skin crawl with desire to hurt him... She just had to look at that pretty smirking face and she had an uncommon urge to run her nails down his cheeks forcefully, cutting deep wells, deforming him, desecrating that untouchable marble beauty... The violence of her impulses almost scared her – what was it about the snotty blond that made her want to protect what was hers at any price? Because Ron was hers, wasn’t he? He was. _Wasn’t he_?

And all of the sudden she was ambushed by the scariest, most impossible thought she had no grounds to harbour, but still... Who said Malfoy’s love was unrequited?  _No one_ , a quiet voice in her head answered. No one had said it, Malfoy certainly never did, she just assumed... Suddenly she felt almost physically sick. Surely Ron wouldn’t do that to her?! She saw him push Harry away, however gently, time and time again, surely he’d be able to repel the advances of the haughty blond who couldn’t afford to be too upfront... up until now. _Always_ , her mind whispered quietly. _Always_.

And from one moment to another she somehow knew this was the truth. Once she was willing to acknowledge the possibility, her gut told her she was on the right trail. There were a million little things… Ron never seemed to mind her prolonged absences much, he was somehow more present in Draco Malfoy’s life than any other individual she knew of... the wedding invitation… well, not that, that was for both of them and she could have gone if… but she was also fairly certain that that vicious magical tear, that wouldn’t let her repair her dress, was not there a day before…

And then this god-forsaken affair of saving Scorpius Malfoy’s life… _something_ was off here… something… but she couldn’t put her finger on it, as if she was missing a vital piece of information that would explain how could someone’s magic spill into another person. That didn’t just happen, of that she was certain! Malfoy was right, she needed to research this, read something, talk to people and then come at him with proof and slam it across the narrow smirking face!

Her mind was racing a million miles a minute to try and come up with more evidence that would testify of Ron’s relationship with the annoying blond bastard – and she could find out nothing out of the ordinary. The little time when she was home, Ron was always by her side, well, with the exceptions of his Thursdays of course, but…

 _Thursdays_. That was the answer. She felt it in her gut. But that couldn’t have been it, surely… Ron had asked for Thursdays off even before they were married, that was at least twelve years ago then, surely they couldn’t have - all the way back then...

And then an unexpected memory sprung upon her, one of Malfoy congratulating Ron for their engagement and then hissing those hateful repulsive words at her about fucking him... she’d never think him capable of even uttering those demeaning words and somehow the thought of that haughty aristocratic mouth speaking such filthy language left her strangely dizzy. He was always rude, yes, but to be this crass was just… _so_ out of character! And all this time she thought it was due to the hatred between them… what if she was wrong? What if the thing that derailed the haughty blond so was _not_ hatred, but it’s _opposite_ entirely? Could it be all those years? That was... eons ago... what, 15, more!?

She couldn’t dwell on those thoughts, she couldn’t. Not now, anyway. Her hands were beginning to shake all over again, her mind was clouded with haze of disbelief and searing anger and he was sitting right opposite from her, grey eyes smirking as if he could follow the mysterious paths of her mind. She couldn’t let him any closer or he would win this here and now. She would do her work, just like he told her to, and face him again when she had a better hand to play.

“So what are your plans for me, Malfoy?” she asked him in a seemingly impassive voice, careful to conceal any hint of the turmoil that was going on inside her.

“Plans, what plans?” he raised his eyebrow dismissively as if he was going to ad she was not nearly important enough to include her in his scheming. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Again that polite smile that made her want to reach across the table and crash the marble façade apart with the back of her hand. But that would speak of her defeat more bluntly than any other action could.

“You know, your elaborate plans for me, his wife of 12 years,” she mirrored his politeness instead, knowing it would unsettle him though he’d never show it. “Shall I just roll over and die to make it convenient to you?”

The sly, most insolent lopsided grin he gave her convinced her that he had already harboured this thought himself, but as always, he was not playing with open cards and he was anything but dumb: telling his superior he wanted to get rid of her was not part of his strategy. Slytherin to the bone, this one, still after all these years.

“Oh, well… if I had any plans for you, hypothetically speaking, of course, because I can’t see why I should – but just for the sake of the argument, if I did: what makes you think I’d share them with you? It’s not like you are going to follow them, is it? Why risk having you ruin them? If there were any, that is…”

“I see,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “Now let me summarize what I’ve learned here today, before we conclude this calamity of a conversation: You are after my husband, plain and square, and you just put your foot in the door of making him see that you’re available quite bluntly. You’d never admit to it openly, but you’ve been after him for years and it’s for me to find out how successful your quest had been. And you’re clearly delusional enough to think you stand a chance against whatever is holding Ron tied to me and the life we have together – it’s not just me and our 12-year-old marriage, you know, it’s also the children we have together, the friends we share - and you don’t – the knowledge I have of this man I slept next to my entire adult life; it’s the thousands little secrets of ours, our dreams and future plans and a million comfortable routines you’re going against, Malfoy. I wonder – can you really play as well as you think?”

She could see her words hit the mark because his face had turned just a shade greyer and the dismissive smirk was now gone completely. But he only looked at her with dark grey eyes and said quietly:

“You play well, Granger, you always did, but you forget I’m playing with an ace you don’t have.”

When she raised her eyebrow questioningly, challenging him to explain with no words, he gave a tiniest smile that suddenly looked tired and said the words with absolute conviction in his voice:

“Ron’s heart.”

And when he got up and disappeared, he had left her broken.

~

“There is a lady from the Ministry who’d like to speak to you, Mistress,” said the tiny house-elf who usually served the Malfoy couple their breakfast.

“The Ministry?” Lucius Malfoy frowned and looked at the house-elf with stormy eyes. “Are you sure? I won’t have any joking about with these things in my house, you know!”

“Certain, absolutely certain, Master, forgive me!” the little creature squealed in holy fear it always felt for its master. “She even left a card, you see, but she had not asked to see Master, she wants to see her ladyship!”

“Give here,” Lucius extended his arm imperiously towards his servant and the creature gave the card away with such speed as if it was made of hot stones.

“Deputy Minister Hermione Granger-Weasley!? The Mudblood?! In my house!? My darling, what _have_ you done?!” Lucius looked at his wife in sincere shock.

“Oh, I’m sure whatever it is, it’s nothing I can’t rectify,” Narcissa replied calmly and got up gracefully. “Show her to my private parlour, we are not to be disturbed,” she issued her order to a house-elf who was more than happy to escape with a set of clear instructions and disappear from the eyes of the grumpy Master.

“Now, if you will excuse me, darling – it doesn’t seem proper to let the Deputy Minister waiting, I’m sure it’s nothing – perhaps just a little thing or two regarding the inquiries we have made about all the stuff that’s gone missing during the war - she is very ambitious, you know, I wouldn’t put it beyond her to come and collect political points by delivering this or the other unimportant news in person!”

“You’re right,” murmured Lucius, whose sore spot were all the opportunities that became open to the Muggle-borns after the war. “If I had it my way the woman would be pushing a quill in our Indian branch office, but of course when Arthur, that hopeless idiot, retired, he made sure his position was passed onto his daughter-in-law, the sentimental old fool! For certain she came crawling for support – as if she would ever get it in this household!”

“Come now, Lucius,” his wife reprimanded him gently. “Play nice. I’ve heard the woman is quite capable... Besides – whatever our feelings, we can’t afford to turn any of the Weasleys or their relatives against us, or next time we go to Diagon Alley we won’t be able to buy a scone – I swear that ginger lot is everywhere, like mice!”

And Lucius just grunted angrily in approval as he watched his wife disappear.

The room Narcissa took her visitor in was a strange, but nevertheless lovely mixture of a salon and an office, as it had an abundance of soft comfortable chairs scattered about, giving the room a fresh, informal feel, but it also had an elegant looking desk and, tucked slightly into the corner and out of immediate view, there was even a large portly Pensieve that seemed strangely out of place. As soon as the door of her private quarters clicked behind her Narcissa Malfoy approached her unusual visitor gracefully and, unlike their last encounter some odd 11 years ago, greeted her kindly:

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley! How lovely to see you! Please, do take a chair and make yourself comfortable. Wheezy, refreshments, if you please and then we are not to be disturbed!”

Visibly tired Hermione Granger-Weasley merely nodded in gratitude towards the jittery house-elf and sat down in a comfortable armed chair she was offered. Narcissa picked a chair opposite to her and looked at her across the elegant salon table with focused bright eyes:

“I must tell you... I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

When Hermione’s head shot up in surprise, Narcissa merely smiled one of her tiny incomprehensible smiles and offered:

“I knew I should once it became clear you will inevitably meet my grandson. I’m told your lovely daughter Rose and our Scorpius seem to… fall into each other whenever their paths meet and at one opportunity when I had the pleasure of meeting her in person, she immediately expressed her wish to acquaint Scorpius to the rest of her family. Your daughter is a very resolute young woman, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, such spirit! I dare say when she puts her mind to it, nothing is beyond her reach. So I assumed there would be… trouble on September 1.

I know you - by more accounts than one – to be an exceptionally bright woman, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, so I knew once you saw Scorpius, you’d connect the dots fairly quickly. I imagine you were hard pressed to make some sense of the relationship between my Draco and Ronald, yes? Nothing but a half-truth out of that chess master supreme you have for a husband and I imagine my son just _loved_ being provocative, cryptic and not very helpful... I knew you would eventually remember I was somewhat involved with summoning your husband to my grandson on the night of his birth, so I gathered that once everything else failed, there was a fairly good chance you’d try your luck with me – and here you are!”

“In not so many words – yes, I suppose that’s the gist of it,” Hermione confirmed slowly, cautiously, still somewhat in awe, because the blasted woman had really taken her by surprise. But Narcissa merely nodded to herself as if those words only certified what she already knew. She then intertwined the fingers of her hands in front of her and asked without unnecessary delay:

“So - how much do you already know?”

This was the last thing Hermione expected. She came here ready to break arms and blackmail the haughty woman into cooperation if she had to, but this uncommon willingness to oblige, even kindness… – that was as out of character as one Malfoy could get. Still, Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her generation for nothing; she pulled herself together quickly and determined to make the best of the temporary insanity that seemed to have settled over the mother of her arch enemy.

“Not much,” she admitted openly, because it wouldn’t take much probing for the astute woman to find out that for herself. “I know your grandson’s got more of my husband’s in him than it’s obvious to the open eye and frankly, I don’t entirely believe the “ _spilling magic_ ” explanation your son had given me – there is no such phenomenon mentioned in any of the books I’ve read and trust me, I’ve been through them all.”

“All that are _publically_ available,” Narcissa interfered kindly and once Hermione’s eyes got big and round at the implication these words entailed, she urged her to go forward with an impatient gesture of her elegant hand: “We shall come back to that. Please, do not be disturbed. Do continue, if you please.”

“Something that your son said made me think that this... infatuation with my husband has not been recent. He had literally used the word “ _always_ ” to describe it and I was hoping that perhaps you could shed light on whatever on Merlin’s sacred earth he had meant by that...”

“My son,” Narcissa once more interrupted courteously, “says exactly what he means. If he used the word “ _always”_ it probably means he cannot recall the time when he wasn’t… interested in your husband,” she concluded almost kindly and after only a short pause she quickly elaborated as if hoping to eradicate all doubt: “Romantically, I mean. My son is interested in your husband romantically. In the way other people would have described it as “ _in love_ ”, though the Malfoys don’t throw those words around easy.”

And she smiled and graciously ignored how pale Hermione had turned at the shameless use of word “ _love_ ”.

“I see,” the younger woman forced herself to say, but somehow her strength had all ran out of her for the moment and she just sat there, staring at the table numbly and tried to come up with the next question while Narcissa patiently waited in silence. Finally Hermione collected her unusually scattered mind about her sufficiently to continue:

“I suppose the question I struggle with the most and I can’t seem to find answer to is this: is my husband aware of your son’s…” – no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to use to word _love_ , it just seemed off and terribly unfair towards herself – “affection and does he return it?” she looked at the older woman almost hungrily, expectantly, because she knew she might not get a straight answer out of her and she just might have to read one off her marble face, so alike her son’s.

And indeed, Narcissa wasn’t an easy game:

“Have you tried asking your husband that question?” she asked quietly. “I wonder… why didn’t you start there?”

And at this point there was nothing left for Hermione than absolute truth:

“Because I’m afraid what I might find out,” she blurted. “If there’s nothing there, I would inadvertently alert Ron of your son’s… attraction, but if there is… Then he’s been lying to me, possibly for quite some time. And I’m afraid he’d try again…. But if I caught him lying to my face once more… I wouldn’t be able to forgive him,” she admitted quietly. “I wouldn’t. So I suppose… not asking him is my way of trying to preserve my marriage at all cost,” she somehow managed to word her miserable feelings.

“So you came to ask me for… assurances of your husband’s unwavering affection for you… or for the truth?” Narcissa asked softly, but her words cut as mercilessly as they intended to.

“Oh, Merlin…”

Hermione closed her eyes in a sudden feeling of defeat that washed over her.

“Is it then… safe to assume that these two things are… incompatible?” she finally forced herself to ask with a fading voice, feeling crushed and wishing she had never gathered the courage to show up.

“Quite,” Narcissa said curtly.

And she might as well have rolled a ten-ton stone over Hermione’s sinking heart.

“Oh…” she managed quietly, but suddenly she could no longer find strength to utter all those million crazy buzzing questions that brought her here in the first place. She felt dead inside, ruined, almost as if Ron’s love defined her every boundary and now that she knew for certain she had lost it, she herself had dissolved and entirely lost her compass.

“Please, don’t get me wrong,” continued Narcissa kindly, because it was not her intention to hurt the shattered wife further. “I’m fairly certain your husband loves you just as he did at the beginning of your marriage, not even a tiny bit less… and no more. But the truth, plain and simple, is that Ronald Weasley was never in love with you. Not once upon a time. Not now. Not ever.”

“Now, before you get angry with me - ” she lifted her long finger in caution as she caught a sudden flare of anger in the honey-coloured eyes of her visitor. “Please remember, _you_ came to _me_ and it was _not I_ who wished to impose the knowledge I have of my son’s relationship with your husband onto you. And also – I have no interest in hurting you, you are a highly respected woman who helped my family greatly after the war and there is no quarrel between us, yes?”

And only after she saw Hermione nod silently, though reluctantly, her icy eyes softened a little and she continued almost gently:

“But you must also be aware that you cannot claim what is not yours – and I’m afraid your husband’s heart never was. I have reports of him being a good husband. Don’t let that distract you. He does not love you, he can’t. I can even offer you proof of that... if you wish.”

And those words left Hermione entirely speechless. She just stared numbly across the expensive salon table at the impeccably elegant woman that crushed her dreams, everything she believed to be real with such ease, and she found herself wishing this was all just a bad dream.

“The proof… what proof?” she croaked finally, just to break the unbearable silence that sat on her shoulders heavy like a big black vulture that came to collect her soul. “What proof could you possibly have that my Ron doesn’t... you know…?”

It felt strangely comforting to call Ron her own, as if that was her only defence, her only fortress against the terrible world the lied on the other side of this woman’s words. And if she didn’t repeat the words of this cruel woman, perhaps there was a small chance that... it was not true.

“When you got married, you have exchanged rings, have you not?” Narcissa asked calmly and when Hermione looked at her in confusion and began “ _Yes, of course, but how could that possibly…_ ”

“Your husband no longer wears your ring,” Narcissa interrupted her impatiently and at the blatant disbelief in the younger woman’s eyes explained almost matter-of-factly: “He hasn’t worn it in a while. In fact, I don’t believe he ever wore it much. He might have transfigured it to look like the ring you gave him, but it is not your ring. He wears my son’s ring instead. The serpent and the lion intertwined. Draco never takes his off.”

“You see…” she looked her straight into the flabbergasted face, “ – you can consider yourself lucky: you at least got married with your own ring, my son married his wife with the ring your husband gave him, he had her put it on his finger during the ceremony and he drove over her shock and disappointment like a freight-train, like it didn’t matter at all, willing to crush his fresh young perfect marriage to bits under the heavy unforgiving love he holds for your husband. Yes, those two are quite a pair,” she smiled thinly, almost sadly at the slack-jawed younger woman and offered further:

“Should you choose not to believe me, a simple “ _Revelio_ ” aimed at the ring should put an end to your doubts. It is my son’s ring on his finger your husband wakes up with every morning and it is his ring he goes to sleep with every evening. None other. His ring. His heart as well. They love each other beyond borders, Ronald and my son. Unforgivingly so. They don’t have a choice anymore.”

The strange wording the woman had used finally shook Hermione out of her stupor:

“What do you mean... they have no choice?”  she asked sharply, not bothering to cover up the hurt Narcissa’s cruel words left in their trail. “How does one not have a choice as to where they place their heart? Your words make no sense!”

The older woman did not answer directly. She got up gracefully and walked to the expensive looking desk, covered in ancient magical symbols.  She whispered a spell and a drawer appeared right in the middle of the smooth surface where there wasn’t one before.

“My mother’s desk,” she explained off-handedly. “Specifically designed to keep all the important secrets a woman could ever hope to have. Now... _this_... is the answer you’re looking for,” she carefully handed Hermione a delicate scroll that looked on the verge of disintegrating. “This is the missing clue. It has been in my family for generations, this knowledge. However - you might have found out a bit of what it says in here by _talking_ rather than reading in this case. Talking to the right people.” And at puzzled look in her eyes she added: “The purebloods.”

At another flare of anger in the brown eyes of the Deputy Minister Narcissa gave an apologetic smile and explained:

“You misunderstand me. I do not speak of the purebloods here as superior over the people with no magical ancestry – but being of pure blood does bring along certain knowledge and traditions that those with no magical ancestry don’t have. Some sort of folklore, to put it in plain words. There’s not a magical mother out there who doesn’t tell her children goodnight stories of those unfortunates who fell in love in spite of life pulling them apart - and _bonded_ , beating life at its very own game. _Bonding_ … it is complicated. But Molly Weasley could have told you about it. Even Ginevra Weasley Potter could have, I bet she knows, these stories are extremely popular among the romantic young girls, because that’s what everyone assumes they are: stories, just stories. The truth, unfortunately, is different.”

A strange restlessness seemed to have settled over her, because she took a stroll about the room, floating aimlessly towards the window as if she thought about escaping into the beautiful green gardens below – but then changed her mind and returned to the table where she once again sat down just a tad more heavily  than before.

“Bonding exists,” she spoke quietly. “You will read all about it in the scroll I gave you, as far as I know, it is the only known copy of the spell in existence. It is extremely complicated and its magic only extends to those of pure-blood. If that angers you or not – it is irrelevant. Magic of purebloods is simply different than the one you have. Not necessarily stronger or better, but different. Draco could not have done it with Potter, nor you – but your husband was perfect. One does not get more pure of blood than Ronald Weasley.

Besides the prerogative of pure blood another condition is, that it is voluntary. Only those who in their very hearts wish to be bonded like that, can submit themselves to the spell. There can be no coercion, this is for life and it cannot be undone. So there has to be consensus. So you see – as soon as I figured out that my son decided to bond your husband and I saw with my own eyes, that it had worked – I knew that you never held his heart. And now no one else ever can.”

She looked her straight in the eye at her next words as if she wanted to make sure the younger woman believed her:

“You see – bonding is extremely powerful: it was meant for those, who - for one reason or another - cannot stay by each other’s side the way they ideally would, if they could have their heart’s desire. So the spell is designed to transcend boundaries, those of time, place and even body. The bonded feel each other like no other individual could ever hope to feel another person. Your husband pouring some of himself into my grandson simply by holding Draco’s hand over him is a true testimony of the powerful nature of the spell. And of course, as with all spells based on love, the most powerful magic out there, this one also takes its toll: there cannot be only one person carrying it around. In more simple terms – when Draco dies, so will Ronald.”

All the blood drained out of Hermione’s face at those words as if the implication of what had been said only now hit home with full force.

“But… who would go and do such a thing to the person they love?” she finally asked, her voice barely audible. “If you love someone, you wish them all the best, you want them happy, even in a world without you, how very selfish…”

“Ah… yes. You would think that, of course,” Narcissa nodded calmly. “My guess is, that’s why the knowledge of bonding was allowed to pass merely as a piece of folklore, rather than what it is - a most majestic piece of old magic around: because it is only accessible to those who would have it no other way. They do not wish to have a life without the other person. They are already forced to have one away from them, but to exist without them – it is unimaginable. And that’s the true spell that holds my son and your husband captive since they were but children: love, plain and simple, the most purest, undiluted kind there is. Cruelest as well. For years and years my Draco and your Ronald have loved each other in the way that defies everything they were ever moulded to be.

Do you think my husband hadn’t tried his darndest to install the hatred to all named Weasley deeply into my son’s soul? In the end, it was all for nothing: Draco let it slip once that he took one look at Ronald and his faith was forfeit, though, admittedly, he didn’t know what hit him at the time. And don’t you think it goes against the very nature of one as Gryffindor as your husband is, to lie and to deceive and to cheat? And yet - all that he’s about becomes irrelevant when it comes face to face with the love he has for my son. It always has. For longer than you can imagine. For as long as he let himself succumb to it.”

“12 years, then, at the very least…” Hermione tried in a voice that was so weak it hardly ever sounded like hers, but even that faded when she saw a tiny, almost apologetic bitter smile Narcissa had offered:

“Try 18,” she said quietly. “Almost 19 now, according to my son.”

“Thursdays…” Hermione whispered and suddenly it had all made sense when Narcissa confirmed:

“Every Thursday for the last 18 years. Not one was missed by my son. I cannot speak for Ronald, but I assume he attended quite regularly as well. My son is not someone one keeps waiting for nothing. My guess is this… illusion of your marriage would have ended much sooner had Ronald not been present regularly. My son would not suffer for that.”

“So why…?” Hermione unexpectedly interrupted, her voice suddenly almost feverish. “Why are you telling me this now, when they had been so successful in hiding their… affair and you have been their secret-keeper for so long? Why now?”

“Because my son is a fool,” Narcissa shot curtly, the flare of her anger sudden and uncommon. She took another nervous stroll about the room before she turned around at the window and spoke again:

“He’s a true Malfoy and a fool. He can’t speak about his feelings plainly and he won’t. He’s so in love with Ronald he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going and yet he won’t tell him that plain and simple and ask him to leave it all behind so they can finally be together. He’s put it into this terribly thick Malfoyian head of his that it has to be Ronald who makes the first move and you and I both know how well this is going to go… Weasleys were not born to court, for Merlin’s sake, Molly had to give Arthur a love potion to make him come out to her, everybody knew that, even though he practically worshiped the floor she walked on!

And that poor foolish son of mine hopes he’ll get there by _showing_ Ronald that the time is now, that the moment has come when they could finally hope to be happy together. If only! They’ve been through enough, you have no idea…

Dear god, I thought Lucius was going to tear this child of mine apart with his expectations, so thin he had him stretched, higher, forever higher! As terrible as it was, I’m almost glad that dreadful war had happened - at least it put some reins on my husband’s ambitions regarding our son and installed a bit of spite into Draco to make him go looking for his own destiny. And he found it, when he found Ronald. They found each other. And they could never go back to not knowing what it was they had found.

I believe for the first few years my son was hopeful that this… obsession with your husband was a passing matter. As the last Black and the last Malfoy my poor Draco could never be free of all the expectations and – he knew how terribly disappointed his father would be if the Malfoy name had come to nothing with him. I would have cared less, the Blacks survive through Edward Lupin, the one they call Teddy, and the Black’s blood is no water. In any event - it would have been so infinitely less complicated if it was only a matter of lust. I don’t know when it had finally downed on my son that what he had with Ronald surpassed the definition of a mere fling by miles - or more precisely, by years – but by the time of his wedding he already knew.

I found him with Ronald, moments before he was to take his place at the altar and through the very wall of the room in which they took their shelter I could feel their despair, the magnificent magic _glowing_ with love when they were together…  It would have broken your heart as a mother as well, had you been able to see it the way I did. Every mother wants to see her child happy and I walked behind my son that day knowing, that he never would be…

From that day to this day, my son and your Ronald have fulfilled every expectation their friends and families ever had for them – they have been everything we ever hoped them to be and more – and they only got paid that one day a week as their reward. And now Scorpius, the one person that still tied Draco to his son’s mother, has left the nest and my boy is free to fly at last. And what does he do?! Does he go to Ronald and tell him that he practically cannot live nor breathe without him, that he hasn’t been able to since he was 19, and that for god’s sake he should make him the happiest man alive and just come and spend the rest of his life with him?! No! All that… _full-blooded Malfoy_ does is to go and ask for a divorce, hoping that the oblivious soul you have for a husband will eventually notice that he’s free for him now! And how long is that supposed to take!? Another 18 years?! His folly is intolerable… as is your husband’s insecurity!”

She fell silent for a long moment as if she was trying to resolve in her own head what it was that she was attempting to say, but this time Hermione beat her to it. She sounded incredibly tired even to herself.

“I asked your son a couple of months ago, when the news of his divorce first hit the public, what were his plans for me and he refused to admit he had any. Apparently, it was to wear me out and drive me mad with wondering and – oh, look, it _worked_ like a charm! And now I’m going to ask you the same question: what do you want with me, Lady Malfoy? You’ve clearly been expecting me, you were uncommonly obliging and I know how things stand with the Malfoys: nothing ever comes without a price tag. So please, do me one last courtesy and tell me what it is that you want from me, I honestly don’t have the energy to play your subtle games anymore.”

“I want you to get out of their way.”

Even though Hermione asked for a clear answer, he was still taken aback when it came so unexpectedly and so bluntly from a woman that was known for her intricate play.

But Narcissa had already turned away from the window and crossed the room with a resolute pace, her eyes stormy and unsettled, suddenly terrifyingly alike her mad sister Bellatrix in Hermione’s alert brain.

“I want you to step aside... and I will show you why.”

The majestic woman’s hand twitched almost as if she wanted to grab her and pull her from her seat, but she refrained in the last moment and spoke with absolute control in her voice:

“Follow me... to the Pensieve, if you please.”

She turned around without looking if Hermione was at her heels because she knew the young woman, who came to look for the truth and some sort of resolve, won’t be able to refuse her. Her wand, pitch black with silver pins decorating the holder, was promptly pressed against her own forehead and with a skill that testified of many years and occasions of practice she extracted a string of memories she wanted to share with the younger woman.

“See for yourself,” she invited her closer and stepped aside. And Hermione did.

She fell herself falling, the familiar sensation associated with the use of Pensieve, and she landed in a brightly lit ball-room that seemed to burst with riches and decorations. Judging by the elaborate attires of the small million of people present, it was some sort of formal event. A wedding, she determined after she noticed that everything around her seemed to literally glow in white. And once she looked at the person beside her she knew whose wedding it was: the wedding she had missed, the wedding of one Draco Malfoy. The groom himself was standing next to her, looking impeccable in all his pureblood glory, a perfect male specimen, a marble statue made of grace and elegance – with the numbest, most desperate eyes she had ever seen.

Perhaps it was Narcissa’s perspective that had changed her view of him, but when she looked at him like that, she felt no hatred, just a sickening feeling that something was off, that something _wrong_ was about to happen.

Then she saw his chest heave and she followed his gaze and there it was, there _he_ was: her beautiful husband, her Ron, a head-taller than the rest and for once groomed to perfection, moving through the crowd, slowly approaching the receiving party. She had never seen Ron through any other person’s eyes but her own and it hit her like a fist to the stomach, how very breath-taking he was. But perhaps it was _because_ she was seeing it through another person’s eyes that she seemed to notice the little things she knew about him, but hasn’t been aware of for a very long time...

How silken and shiny his long red hair was, even like this, tied in a plait, with the few loose strand brushing softly against the long strong neck. How elegant he could be with his endless muscled limbs and wide shoulders, his Auror-posture just radiating hidden confidence and authority. How very blue and unfathomably deep his unforgettable eyes were... and how they suddenly began to radiate brilliance when they spotted Draco Malfoy. And then there was a small sexy smile on those generous lips and his very skin seemed to glow against the spray of golden freckles at that moment.

He was irresistible. Even to her as a spectator and an illusion, he felt so real and so captivating she had to suppress an urge to fly into his arms and claim him as his wife. But even if she did – he had no eyes for her that day, he had no eyes for anyone else but _him_. Small wonder, then, that she could almost physically feel the brutal desire that burst like a tidal wave out of the man standing next to her. His whole body tensed and his chest expanded as Draco Malfoy’s eyes had literally turned silver with want and expectation when they devoured Ron’s face, making him look every bit like a man starved and possessed. The blond was spellbound by her husband, and so obviously so, that she began to wonder how she could ever have missed it in the first place.

And there could be no doubt about Ron’s feelings for him. When those incredible blue eyes, just sparkling with provocative sex-appeal, met the silver... the connection between them was downright physical, the desire it oozed so real, it could be bottled.

She had witnessed the introduction Draco almost neglected to make for he was just too busy drooling over her husband and she stood quietly through Ron’s reluctant attempt at removing himself, which was promptly sabotaged by the blond who dove into the crowd to speak to him in private with barely an excuse to spare.  And she was forced to listen to that awful woman, the mother of the bride, pester Malfoy with all the insignificant little questions about his redheaded partner that clearly stirred her imagination like no other and she watched Draco give one polite response after another, growing visibly more restless and irritated by the moment.

And once the blond had excused himself, she was promptly shifted to another location as if Narcissa had carefully selected what it was that she deemed necessary for her to see. She was still a wedding, she could see that from the decoration in the hallway, but as she approached the room at the end of the corridor, for some reason her heart started drumming in her chest as if it knew the closed door held a secret that could release and shatter it at the same time. The closer she came the more acutely she could feel the old magic hum through her very bones, dissolving the very ties that kept her sanity about her, leaving her scared and unfocused. The feeling was unbearable, the older woman must have built an incredible resistance hanging about the Dark Lord to even be able to approach the centre of such powerful magic! From close up the door seem to glow with the majestic golden glow while the edges disappeared as if corroded and eaten away by the most putrid black.

Narcissa was right – even through a memory Hermione could feel the despair and the suffocating love breathing from the other side of the door as if a terrible monster bred in there and the overwhelming sensation pregnant with unbearable intensity nearly knocked her off her feet. And her Ron was inside there with _him_. By his own will and choice, if Narcissa was to be believed. He took part in whatever went on in there because he wanted to. She couldn’t bear to think what a price he was paying for standing against something as powerful as that for what was years now.

And then Draco Malfoy emerged, pale and otherworldly, as if cast in stone and told Narcissa he had left his heart inside that room and indeed he looked as if he had none left. She never saw Ron come out, but as she was swept over into the next memory, the one at the altar, she had no doubt it was him behind that door with Draco. He looked absolutely wrecked and strangely blank, as if he could not allow himself to get re-connected to his feelings because it was something that was beyond his control.

And then she saw the ceremony, saw every look Draco gave her beautiful wretched husband, saw how skilfully he swapped the rings, how unscrupulously he presented the one he wanted to have to the bride, how entranced Ron was, watching the exchange and how his beautiful warm mouth had opened and said the words, exactly as Draco had said them, as if he was reading them directly from his mind. And she saw the barely suppressed shiver that shook them both once the ceremony was complete and she knew she could never un-see the look on the blond’s face, suddenly aglow with happiness that made him look like a complete different person, alight with beauty, and the tears in Ron’s brilliant eyes when the old magic closed the gap between them. They were one now. They felt like one from the mind of the woman whose memories she was sharing.

There were more memories. Those of Narcissa’s private conversation with Ron when she explained the spell and she could watch her husband smile like a child and welcome the news of the unforgivable nature of the ties he shared with his blond lover. And those of the wild untameable dance that brought Ron so close to the man he had bonded that it seemed unnatural every time they managed to separate and there could be no other end to it than them merging into each other’s arms. She saw the ring on Ron’s finger, she read the words of his lips when he begged Draco for more, she witnessed the loss of sanity in the silver eyes when the blond sunk his fingers into her husband’s fiery hair and disapparated them.

But she didn’t have to. From the moment she saw that ring slide onto Draco’s finger, she he knew she had lost. She knew what to do, as heavy at it made her heart feel. But there was no other way: it felt like a crime to stand between them after what she had witnessed. And even though she knew that was exactly how Narcissa wanted to make her feel, she couldn’t help herself. She was going to play along, anything else made her feel almost sick.

She came out of that Pensieve a changed woman. She looked the older woman in the eye, standing at the side patiently, watching her intently, a proper mother-dragon here to protect her son’s interest and save what was left of his heart – and she knew she would have done the same in her shoes.

“I will move out of their way,” she said quietly. “Just give me a year to see my son Hugo safe at Hogwarts and I promise I will use it well to settle the matters, have my proper goodbye and leave with dignity. Then I will let him go. You have my word. I deserve at least that much for the life we had together.”

And the graceful lady Malfoy took her hand, this time without reservations and without asking permission and looked her straight in the eye:

“My son cannot thank you. He can never know of this. I’ll obliviate Lucius if I have to. But _I_ thank you. From the bottom of this mother’s heart and _on behalf_ of my son. And of that _fool_ you married, who will never know he was wed to the best woman in England. Best woman, I say, not best witch, because as splendid a witch as you are, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, you’re still a better person.”

And when the younger woman straightened herself up with a new energy, Narcissa knew she couldn’t have given her a better compliment.

“Love comes in a different form for all of us,” Hermione spoke quietly. “Theirs is like a beast, all-consuming, larger than life and all in all completely beyond words. I find it terrifying – and terrific. Mine, however… I love my husband, Madame Malfoy. I love him from the bottom of my heart and I have never loved another man. I doubt I ever will, not the way I love him. And the love I was given tells me I need to see him happy, even if it is with someone else.

All these years I had a feeling I was doing something wrong, claiming him for myself the way I did, I just thought there was someone else… never mind, it is not my secret to disclose, but let it suffice to say that letting Ron go is the ultimate expression of my love for him. It’s where my love for him begins, it’s not the end of it.”

She paused at these words and Narcissa could see the tears that gathered at the edges of her pretty honey-coloured eyes and which she would _just not_ spill. She never felt greater respect and admiration for any living being.

“Now you’ll have to excuse me,” Hermione said quietly. “I have a bit of grieving to do.”

And she walked through the door with her head held up and it was one of those few weak moments in Narcissa’s life when she let the regret and remorse wash over her. This woman dwarfed them all.

~

When Ron came home that evening, she was waiting for him in the darkness, a shadowy figure trapped among the shadows of a single candle’s dance. It served well to hide her eyes, puffy from a day’s worth of crying and it went well with how she felt: as if her world was cast in darkness.

“Hermione?”

He approached her with care and tenderness he always had in stock for her and it was like a knife to her heart when she read the concern in his eyes that was not faked. He did love her, in his own silly way, friendly, the way it should have been between them. But it was not the kind of love he was made for. She couldn’t give him that. He had given her whatever he could find in his heart for her and for all these years, it was enough – and she had given him all the love she was capable of and it didn’t even come close. He would always care for her and respect her, she knew that, but she could not light the stars in his eyes.

There was just one man who could do that and it was the most vile, troubled and unexpected creature one Weasley could ever fear to come across – and yet he was the one. If there was any ironic twist of fate in this, it was that Ron was equally a one-man disaster for a proper Malfoy. They were all wrong and the only ones right for each other. No one even came close.

“Honey, are you alright?” He had kneeled down to her and took her hands in his big palms and his pretty face frowned in concern. “You’ve been crying… has anyone hurt you?”

“No… just… it’s time to end this, Ron. I want a divorce. I’ll be gone as soon as Hugo leaves for Hogwarts.”

“What? No! What?? Why??”

The confusion in his eyes was absolute, it seemed as if he genuinely didn’t think anyone would ever discover his little secret…

“I know, Ron,” she said simply. “I know about Thursdays.”

She saw him turn ashen grey and close his eyes, promptly turning to stone on his knees in front of her.

She watched him for long moments, watched the long auburn eyelashes cast delicate shadows down his pretty freckled face, watched his soft lips press together defiantly when he had reached a decision, watched those brilliant blue eyes open and look straight at her face. And her heart was cracked open at the thought she could never have this again, that it was not for her.

“I have no excuse,” he said quietly. “Nor do I have a choice anymore. It doesn’t feel like I ever had one much. I’m… made for him. And he is made for me. It is what it is.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I know. I saw it, I finally did. That’s why I’m letting you go. I can’t stand between what you two have, I won’t. You can tell people whatever you want, but this is the real reason. Just… I’m not ready to take Hugo’s home from him right now. He’s ever so fragile since Albus left, it’s like he’s only living a half life, he’s like a shadow until that morning owl comes every day, he doesn’t need more insecurity, the ground being knocked from under his feet. I will keep this illusion of our marriage going until he’s gone, but I will make arrangements and I will not come home with you from that train station in September, Ron.”

“I will miss you,” he said quietly and that was it. Nothing more. He had nothing more for her. No pleading to change her mind, not even regrets. He did not even ask for her friendship, as if he knew he would always have that, or – even more cruelly – as if he had come to terms with the fact that he might lose that and it was the price he was willing to pay. And for some reason those words sparked a flare of hurt and anger inside of her that all the knowledge she had gained of his lies and his treachery couldn’t.

Merlin, his sincerity was god-awful! Couldn’t he even pretend he was heart-broken!? Is that all she was worth? He had given _him_ all that passion, she saw how hungrily, how possessively he looked at him and when she, his wife of almost 13 years, says goodbye, he simply tells her calmly she will be missed, almost as if he had said goodbye to her the moment she spoke the words, with no remorse, almost as if he couldn’t wait for it... She could hate him, in this moment she knew she could, if she wasn’t so damn in love with him… and if she didn’t feel so bloody sorry for what he’s put himself through.

Her hand escaped her before she could hold it back and when it landed on his cheek with a slap, she told him in a quiet anger- and despair-ridden voice:

“And for god’s sake, Ron, make it count! Stop breaking everyone’s heart!”

And for once she had left him utterly confused. Who the hell told her about them?! It could only be Draco, no one else knew. But what, _what_ in Merlin’s bloody name did Malfoy tell her to make her leave? And _why_??

What if…? The thought was impossible. Surely that was a wrong explanation, Draco would never… He didn’t think that much of him, he wouldn’t… He wouldn’t. Not for him. If only...


	25. Secrets, secrets galore... and no one to keep them

“Albie!!!”

“Hey, Hu-…” the rest of the sentence disappeared somewhere inside the frantic hug into which Hugo Weasley wrapped Albus Potter as soon as he stepped off the train. And judging by the wide smile the middle Potter child gave at such an unreserved display of affection, he didn’t mind, didn’t mind it at all. He promptly dropped the suitcase and wrapped his arms around the bony shoulders of his gangly redheaded cousin and closed his brilliant green eyes in a feeling of perfect happiness that washed over him. He didn’t care that any moment now James would step off the train and start poking at him with a 1001 prickly remarks that an almost 12-year-old boy could expect when hugging another boy, a younger one at that and his cousin on top of it all. Right now, he didn’t bloody care about any of it.

It just felt so… _wrong_ to be away from Hugo, he had no words for that… He couldn’t tell anyone just how much he had missed his little ginger shadow, no one would understand what a hollow empty place he felt in his chest as he watched Rose engage in a playful conversation with her worshiped Scorpius or saw James jump into yet another friendly brawl with one of his mates. He had no one like that. He _wanted_ no one like that. Not as long as there was one Hugo Weasley miserable without him at the other side of the country.

They were inseparable practically since Hugo was born and Albus would never have it any other way. Funnily enough, everyone always teased Hugo, how he followed Albus quietly around like a faithful shadow, but hardly anyone knew that it was, in fact, Albus who sought him out time and time again. He barely even learned how to crawl when he disappeared one day, making the entire household raving mad with panic, only to be found sleeping peacefully in the cot right next to the newest addition to the Weasley family, a little boy his parents named Hugo. He was holding his arm around him protectively, as dad always told him with a strange moisture in his eyes when he’s had one too many, and Hugo had snuggled up against him and started howling violently once his bed-mate was removed. From that day on the most fail-proof recipe for putting Hugo Weasley to peace was to put Albus into his cot and the baby boy gurgled happily and relaxed within seconds.

Yes, they were inseparable, and putting them so far apart for so long was cruel and… just _wrong_. He couldn’t wait for the holidays and he knew, he just _knew_ this was going to be his favourite Christmas ever. It was not like it was dreadful at Hogwarts, it was all well enough – he was Harry Potter’s son after all, the one that _looked_   like a carbon copy of him, and life was always going to be good for the son of a Saviour of the wizarding world. Rosie was her usual annoying dear self, James was a bastard, but not too mean at that and Scorpius Malfoy was every bit as cool as Rosie said he was going to be.

That boy was _smart_ , smart in a way only Rosie and her mom were smart and more fun than his polished exterior would ever have one believe. In a strange way he reminded Albus of his uncle Ron, as funny as that sounded, because everyone just screamed how very much he was alike his father, the somewhat notorious Draco Malfoy. Until he looked at them, looked _straight_ at them with those deep blue eyes, and gave them one of his warm, heart-winning smiles, then inevitably everyone got confused. Apparently _that_ was _nothing_ like one Draco Malfoy. But Albus and Scorpius were never going to be as close as Al’s dad and Uncle Ron once were, that place was already taken: there was no room for anyone else but Rose Weasley by the blond boy’s side - he simply adored her. They were both sorted as Ravenclaws, no doubt whatsoever in the voice of the Sorting Hat, while Albus had been a much more complex matter…

He practically had to beg the Sorting Hat to put him in Gryffindor, just because he knew the Weasleys always ended up in Gryffindor and he was half a Weasley, wasn’t he? And there was no way in hell he was ever going to get sorted anywhere other than where Hugo was going to be! If his uncles, the infamous Weasley twins, could get sorted in Gryffindor, when everyone knew that they could have made Salazaar himself burst with pride, then by Merlin Almighty, so could he! The stupid old hat was reluctant, very reluctant, mumbling something about right choices for the wrong reasons or the other way around, but in the end it gave in and, much to his relief, sent Albus to the Gryffindor table grinning like a madman against an applause so loud that the old renovated Great Hall didn’t look as if it was up to it!

But he was lonely, plain and simple, by choice more than by circumstance. Of course everybody wanted to be his friend - who wouldn’t? – but he wanted no one and he chose to spend most of his evenings writing silly and elaborate descriptions of his day to Hugo, which in the end sounded too desperate even to himself and never got sent – he would send a few dry sentences, mute of his feelings, instead. But he knew it wouldn’t matter to Hugo as long as the post arrived every day, he knew his ginger cousin would understand.

There were never much words between them about what pulled them together, but that last evening before he was to leave for Hogwarts, Albus couldn’t stop himself. He kissed Hugo, he kissed him neatly on the cheek, as one might do his cousin and get away with it, but he was doomed from the second he came close to that creamy freckled skin and inhaled the very smell of him, the intoxicating mixture of warmth radiating from his silken fiery hair and innocence that shone out of those blue eyes. He had thought of nothing else since.

And now he had him back if only for a few days and James can go and sod off with his imbecile remarks: he’ll get back at him later, they’ll prank him stupid with Hugo, they were invincible that way. God, he missed him! He was afraid to even open his eyes and come back to reality where he’d have to share him again.

“You came, Albie… you came…” he heard him whisper quietly into his neck and a strange vulnerability settled over him that almost made his knees buckle. “I was so frightened that you weren’t going to show, that you’ve changed your mind and you’ve found someone better…”

“Silly…” Albus whispered, but his voice barely made it out of his constricted throat, because he was choking on the flood of emotions and words of how there was no one better, there couldn’t be, because Hugo just felt-, he just _smelled_   like home. And when he felt the moisture on his neck he couldn’t be sure anymore if it was the snow melting on his coat or if Hugo was crying and for god’s sake, he was _desperate_ and this was screwed up, so he opened his eyes and they landed on his dad watching them with a smile and a strange sympathy in his legendary green eyes.

“Dad… my suitcase,” he said pleadingly and dad only nodded and said quietly:

“All taken care of. Run along, you two… But remember, we leave in 20 minutes.”

And on a whim Albus pulled Hugo behind him and dragged him past Harry Potter with hasty words:

“Thanks, dad… Come, Hugo, I’ve got something to show you!”

And in the crowd it didn’t even feel strange holding Hugo’s hand though he wasn’t really sure he’s ever done it before – they were two kids trying not to get lost, but it was more, so much more… in the way Hugo’s bony fingers clung onto his as if Albus was his life-line; in the way they were warm when they were supposed to be cold because the train was delayed in a snow-storm and they’ve been waiting for them for over an hour… And yet he could remember dad making a remark how Weasleys were always so damn hot: _“Remember, Ron, how you always took me in under your blanket on that blasted Horcrux hunt, my teeth almost shattered, clattering in the cold, and this damn Weasley here was just a bloody stove…”_

As tiny as Hugo’s fingers were, their heat seemed to spread all the way up and underneath Albus’s clothes that he no longer felt cold and freezing, but strangely warm and almost dizzy. He turned the corner and stopped in front of a room that bore a “ _Personnel only_ ” sign. That would do… that would do just fine, he thought defiantly, because this was urgent and he really had to show him…

“In here,” he pushed him inside and slipped in at his heels. Just before the door clicked behind them and left them in darkness, he had spotted a light-switch and his fingers went looking across the wall to reach it. The light that flooded the place came from a single light-bulb and a fading one at that, but that suited Albus’s intentions just fine – he wasn’t sure he could do this in the full light of the day.

“So what is it?” Hugo asked, his voice a bit tired, but still puzzled and Albus noticed that he indeed had streaks of dried up tears down his freckled pale cheeks. “What is this thing you wanted to show me?”

“Nothing,” Albus blurted. “There’s nothing… just this.”

And before he was even himself aware of what he was doing, he had closed down on him and kissed him. Just a panicked short little peck in the corner of his generous mouth, but when he saw those innocent blue eyes grow big in shock and awe… and then flood with love, he couldn’t help himself any longer.

“Merlin, Hugo… I missed you so,” he whimpered and then he was kissing him, kissing him properly on the soft sweet mouth that have weeks ago began chasing him in his sleep and when Hugo gave an involuntary little mewl and his silken wet tongue flicked out and just brushed against Albus’s lips most invitingly, Harry Potter’s son almost saw black.

“Christ, Hugo…” was all he managed and then he cupped his jaw and sunk his fingers in a fiery silken hair and just took possession of that eager sweet mouth that returned every one of his ministrations with the most undoing gentleness. He lost track of time, lost himself completely in Hugo’s mouth and the sensations that flooded his body were dreadfully exciting and oh, god, so overwhelming.

“Albie...” Hugo whispered and it was the devotion in his voice that launched Albus Potter straight back into the real world. He forced himself to pull away from his cousin, just to put a breath of air between them because he couldn’t stand more distance and his messed up brain struggled infinitely to find his place and some god-given grip in this new reality. What the heck was he doing!? This was his _cousin_ , for Merlin’s sake! His younger, very much _innocent_ cousin who adored him and looked up to him and he should have known better... but it was also his Hugo, his ginger shadow, the most heart-warming creature in the life of one Albus Potter, _his_ , Albus’s, belonging to Albus Severus Potter and to no one else.

His confusion was slashed apart by a single peck in the corner of his mouth the little ginger had given him resolutely and then looked straight into his eyes with no remorse:

“Unbreakable, yeah?”

“Unbreakable,” agreed Albus quietly, when the thin warm fingers slipped into his hands and intertwined with his, solidifying their union and wiping it clean of all shame and regret. Hugo wanted this, just like he did, and it didn’t matter that Hugo was only a boy who barely turned 11 a month a go and who shouldn’t really have any such desires, who should not have formed such a strong bond with a boy he could have no future with. Hugo was Hugo, always a bit different, a bit special in his own quiet iron-will way and even though the other boy was younger and seemed weaker - Albus felt claimed. And it had filled up the hollow hole he felt next to his heart with wonderful warmth.

“You reckon we’ll grow up to be like my dad and Uncle Draco... or happier?” the soft voice broke through his musings and Albus frowned. That made no sense... what did uncle Ron and the father of Scorpius Malfoy had to do with them? They worked together, that much he knew, they were partners at work, but other than that...

“What does that has to do with something?” he asked confused and Hugo closed his particular blue eyes shut as if he only now remembered he shouldn’t have been talking of these things.

“Bugger...” he mumbled and then looked at Albus resolutely:

“You mustn’t tell, alright? You mustn’t! I promised and it’s not really my secret, so... promise, yeah?”

“Tell what? Oh, _c’mon_ , Hugh! Alright then, I promise… cross my heart and all that rot. What is it then?”

“Well, it’s just... when we came to send you lot off to Hogwarts in September, I stumbled upon them, my dad and Scorpius’s dad and they were... you know... like us...“

He went Weasley red and gestured between Albus and himself, his blue eyes pleading for Albus to understand so he wouldn’t have to say it and when it finally dawned on Albus, he drew a shocked gasp.

“You mean, they were kissing?!”

Hugo nodded numbly and then a huge grin broke through his naughty freckled face:

“Snogging each other stupid, actually... I thought dad was going to break Scorpius’s dad into bits and Uncle Draco just let him... it was not their first time either, I bet it wasn’t, they had a silencing charm on and the whole rot, like it didn’t just happen... “

“Bloody hell…” mumbled Albus, completely flabbergasted and ran fingers through his unruly hair, making for a spitting image of his father. “My dad will have a nice hefty litter of cuddly kittens, if he ever finds out…”

“You can’t tell him, Albie, you _can’t_!”

Hugo’s voice was desperate and not just a little panicked and Albus hurried to put him to peace:

“No, of course not, I wouldn’t, would I? I promised! It’s just… my dad gets a bit crazy when your dad is concerned, you know how they are… It’s always “ _Ron this_ ” and “ _Ron that_ ”, it drives mom bonkers sometimes. And he _hates_ Scorpius’s father, absolutely _loathes_ him… perhaps that’s why? Do you reckon he knows?”

“He can’t,” Hugo Weasley shook his head. “No one knows. Alright, perhaps my mom does, she is awfully bright, you know. Yeah… she _might_ know. Though I reckon she must have figured it out recently and Uncle Draco told me he’s fancied dad since they were in school, so… she can’t have known for very long or she would not have married dad, would she? They think I don’t know, but I overheard them the other day, her and dad – something about Thursdays and that she wouldn’t stand between them and she wants to leave when I go to Hogwarts… A right bloody mess it is!”

“Blasted adults, why do they make everything so complicated?” Albus agreed and sighed: “I’ll have to be extra careful, then, not to let anything slip. I figure your mom’s going to have to tell my dad sometime and I only have to hold back until then. There’s no saying what would all this turn into if my dad got involved, I think he’s…” he stopped abruptly and then thought, oh, to hell with it, he might as well throw it all to the dogs, it’s not like Hugo was going to spill.

“I think he might be… _a little bit crazy_ about your dad?” he said insecurely and it came out more like a question. “He sure as hell likes to drool all over him when he’s had one too many!” he quickly added in a way of explanation, but much to his surprise, Hugo just nodded.

“I saw him kiss my dad once,” he said quietly. “They must have thought they were alone, but no one ever notices the children, so I saw him. Snogged him right and proper on the mouth and said something like _“You know I love you mate… Remember how we used to do this all the time? C’mon, just one, for old times’ sake…”_ , but my dad just ruffled his hair smiling and told him _“You’re drunk, Potter”_ and he got away. But I saw his face and he was no longer smiling when he turned away from your dad. He looked… sad, I suppose. And I think… Uncle Harry might have… sobbed a little after that…” Hugo looked at him with big blue eyes, as if he was checking if Albus believed him and was not mad at him because of his words.

But Albus knew all too well, he wasn’t lying. For the first time in his life it all made sense: the way his father always looked at him and Hugo with such a sentimental sad smile on his face; the radiant grin he gave every Saturday evening when he took his place on the couch at the Burrow with a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand and Uncle Ron dumped his weight right next to him with a laughing _“Move, Potter, make some room, for fuck’s sake, not everyone’s got the arse the size of a penny, you know”_ ; the frequent fights his mother and father had about _“staying the fuck away from him for one bloody minute”_ as his mother had put it so eloquently... the quiet _“Ron… fuck… Ron!”_ that made it through a poorly cast silencing charm one night he got up to get a glass of water and he had to pass a bathroom on his way.

That must have been it, then: his dad was head over heels about Uncle Ron and he ever found out about him kissing another bloke, let alone Draco Malfoy - _Jesus bloody Christ_! - he would have lost it for sure. Albus knew his dad that much.

And as if he stepped right out of his mind, the voice of his dad suddenly resonated outside the door of their hiding place:

“Albus? Hugo? Are you there? Oh, I suppose not… But if you were, we’re leaving in 5 minutes and you wouldn’t want your mothers to come looking for you, would you now?”

Albus and Hugo only had to look at each other and they jumped at the door simultaneously as if a Hungarian Horntail was tight on their heels.

“Oh, there you are after all,” Harry Potter smiled pleasantly and motioned them along. “You might want to step up a bit, I think I can hear your mom’s angelic voice, Albus.”

And indeed a shrill voice of Ginny Weasley Potter scolding James for god-knows-what could be heard from afar and Albus sighed heavily. Dad was always super cool, but mom… mom was difficult. He loved her, of course he did, but she had this dreadful habit of making it all about her – being the only girl in the pack of boys meant it _was_ always about her, his dad once told him – and Albus wasn’t too sure he was ready for her interrogation and “ _Where on Merlin’s freezing Earth have you been, Albus Severus Potter, I’ve been looking all over for you?!_ ” accusations that were sure to follow.

Hugo was so lucky. Aunt Hermione was strict, but she wasn’t around much because she had such a demanding job, so it was mostly just Uncle Ron and the kids. And everyone knew Uncle Ron was just the best dad to have. He wasn’t as smart as Aunt Hermione nor as efficient as mom, but he always managed to make the kids feel at ease and happy with themselves – and still somehow everything got done. So usually when the news hit that Aunt Hermione was working yet again and Uncle Ron was on his own, it was not uncommon for all the Potter kids – and most times their father included - to miraculously find this excuse or another to be able to spend an evening, sometimes even a night at the household of one Ronald Weasley.

And it appeared as if this day people took up a nasty habit of stepping straight out of his mind into the reality, because it was his Uncle Ron’s tall figure he suddenly recognised on the horizon. But he was not alone. Rose was with him, hanging onto his arm, and so was Scorpius, vivaciously explaining something to her, but what made Albus’s dad stop dead in his track and turn pastry-pale, was the fact that also one _Draco Malfoy_ was there and he was currently busy by tucking a loose strand of wet hair behind Ron’s ear with long elegant fingers and a small smirk playing on his lips:

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley, haven’t you heard of any grooming charms? Some wizard you are! Not only you’re all wet from the snow, you show up to greet this lovely lady looking so ruffled as if the storm brought you in!”

And the worst thing about it was, that Rose’s father just let him. He looked down – forever down, because he was taller than most men Albut knew of, save for Hagrid – down into the grey smiling eyes and there was a soft provocative smile playing on his lips that Albus wouldn’t be able to understand if it wasn’t for the secret Hugo had shared with him.

“Not all of us can be self-absorbed wussies, Malfoy,” he heard a warm deep voice of his uncle with a barely hidden laughter inside. “Some of us are real men, who don’t mind a little moisture and a small winter hurricane here and there just to meet their favourite daughter!”

And with these words he picked up Rose and spun her around until she screamed happily and one would have to be dumb and blind to misinterpret the hungry smile on Draco Malfoy’s face as he watched his partner lean down and kiss his daughter on the cheek: it was the need for possession, pure and simple, something even Albus at the age of 11 could read and not miss what it was all about.

He felt his father move before he actually saw him and his arm automatically swam against him, grabbing him by the wrist and he spoke quietly:

“Don’t dad. You’ll just embarrass yourself. He always leaves with you, doesn’t he?”

He didn’t care at that moment about giving up more knowledge of the relationship between Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy that he was supposed to have, all he cared about was comforting his dad whose acute despair and distress he could feel even from a distance between them, almost as if they shared a piece of genome that said Weasleys belonging to other people were a bad thing.

“What do you know about these things?” his dad whispered bitterly, his voice dry and his eyes as desperate as they came. “How could you possibly know how…?”

“I’ve got Hugo, alright?” Albus interrupted, still holding onto his dad’s wrists as if this fragile connection was the only thing holding his world in place and together. “I’ve got Hugo… and he’s my cousin… so I know, yeah? He’s… I… we’ll never…”

And his dad all of the sudden just pulled him into a tight warm hug, tucked his head into his shoulder and whispered into his ear:

“I’m sorry, dear God, I’m sorry… You know, then, my poor boy, you know…”

And it was a good thing that Harry Potter’s eyes were closed as he held his son, because he missed it entirely when Ron Weasley leaned into his blond partner and whispered something in his ear that made the grey eyes go silver and predatory and his whole body tense. But Draco Malfoy said nothing and the redhead didn’t wait for a reply either. With a off-handed “ _Later, Malfoy_ ” he turned around and followed his daughter and his godson who were engrossed in a animated conversation regarding their Christmas holidays' plans.

And in that moment Albus Potter hated his dashing uncle just a little bit.

~

If Draco Malfoy knew how to whistle, he’d be whistling on his way back from the Platform 9 ¾. The day was just perfect. He had his son back with him, if only for a few days, and the lonely tomb he called home would soon come to life under the lively boy’s influence. Scorpius seemed to have grown and grown prettier in the few months away from home and Draco’s chest just swelled with pride whenever he looked at him. He was a model student, well-behaved and popular, so much so that apparently he had girls fighting over him already (if Rose’s letters were to be believed, Scorpius was too much of a little gentlemen to ever mention it). As long as he was with Rose, the Weasley clan closed their ranks around him and no one dare gave him any hard time for his father’s past – something Draco was acutely afraid of. Besides – who wouldn’t love his dear boy!? He was just the sweetest, most polite, smartest and… well, just everything Draco himself never was and always hoped to be and only now, when he got him back, it hit him how much he had missed him.

But it wasn’t just Scorpius coming home that made his day a perfection. There was also a chance meeting – though Draco had secretly hoped for it – with the boy’s captivating godfather that got his blood boiling.

“ _Need you. Come see me tonight?_ ” Ron had whispered into his ear and the blond tried not to think of it _all_ the time or he’d never get rid of a hard-on that was perpetually nestled between his legs. It wasn’t even Thursday yet, fuck, it wasn’t even close to Thursday yet and Ron asked to see him and it was just… he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t bloody wait. Somehow seeing Ron in informal environment, without his Auror uniform on, always made his blood slam against his veins in a vicious possessive desire, as if his body was acutely aware that he had no right to him in those circumstances and wanted him even more obsessively like that.

As luck would have it, Scorpius was to spend this first night at his mother’s estate, because Astoria had only agreed to a divorce with no bad publicity if she was not to be excluded from her beloved boy’s life and as hard as Draco had it, when the arrangement first came about, he was now glad he had agreed to it. He loved and missed his son, but saying “ _no_ ” to Ron when he so rarely asked for something extraordinary – it just wasn’t an option, never going to happen. He would have apparated to their flat in the middle of the bloody night, if he had to, just to see him in private, if only for a few minutes… Merlin, how he needed it, needed him so, the bloody man had a way of turning his blood into liquid fire with his voice alone…

“We’re here, Father,” Scorpius reminded him gently and woke him out of his reverie.

“So we are,” Draco sighed somewhat heavily at the sight of the port-key that was going to take his son to the Greengrass estate. “I’ll get your luggage home and you send me an owl when you want me to pick you up tomorrow morning. Don’t make it too late or your Grandfather will come looking for you, he’s missed you so… we all did,” he added in a softer voice and he knew his son needed no further assurances for the love he held for him. They’ve always understood each other without too many words, the heart that beat inside his son’s chest was half his in more than just words.

“I _missed_ you, papa,” Scorpius suddenly hugged him tightly and it was the use of his childhood name as well as the unexpected very un-Malfoyian burst of emotion that never failed to knock Draco of his feet – he cherished it so.

“There, there…” he ran his fingers through the silken blond hair of his most prized possession and pressed a kiss so light he would have no trouble ever denying it onto his lovely boy’s cheek. “I missed you as well…” he whispered in his ear, never the one to talk about his feelings openly, but in a sudden surge of Black temper he added feverishly: “… _like mad_. I missed you like mad, my pretty little boy. Don’t be too long tomorrow, all right?”

“Nah… the thought of Grandfather Lucius coming to fetch me is just too scary,” his son smiled into his shoulder and Draco couldn’t help mirroring his smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then. Give my regards to your mother,” he told him just as his son picked up the handle of a shovel that had been transfigured into a port-key. He stared at the place for a moment longer as if he was trying to follow his son’s journey into the unseen and then turn around to look for the nearest apparation point. He had some grooming to do.

~

“Fuck, Ron… _fuck_ …”

The warm hungry mouth was upon him before he could regain his senses from the apparation and after the soft, dancing tongue began untangling the threats of what little control he had brought along, that was all the eloquence he was left with.

His redheaded god had clearly been waiting for him and for once he must have meant the “ _need you_ ” part as urgently as it sounded, because his demanding overpowering mouth took no time to pin down the lost blond creature it had enslaved. For a while he simply continued to capture his every breath, softly, unforgivingly, until he had him where he wanted him, moaning and dizzy and with soft knees. This was Draco’s quiet, heated, slow-working poison; the sense that he was desired and anticipated was enough to have his engorged cock pressing painfully against the fabric of his pants at nothing more than sloppy mouth working him with abandon - and the blond knew, he _knew_ he could come just from that. The heavenly mouth held a clue to every question Draco has ever had in its soft dooming inside. Draco was lost before he had made a single step from the spot he had landed on. Ron was that good.

And the redheaded devil wasted no time. He had him undressed before his mouth ever moved away from the tortured swollen lips and he tore and shredded whatever it took to have him naked, vulnerable and completely under control. And after that… after they had made it to the bed… He was rarely so brutal. Binding was not his thing, and yet, today, binding it was and Draco was addicted to every strained moment of it. Before long he found himself covered in a thin sheen of sweat, naked, stretched and bound and the words he could not imagine saying poured out of him like a dirty flood.

“Christ, Ron, _please_! God… please… you need to give it to me… you need to… baby, please, you know how much I need it, how badly… _yessss_ …. God, yes!!! Oh, Merlin, there…”

Impossibly torn apart between the sweet agony and screaming ecstasy Ron had him chase for what felt like hours, his big merciless hands toyed with every inch of flushed skin bursting with sensation and that  torturous sweet tongue, god, that tongue… it had left him dangling on a brink of a monstrous orgasm, brushing against it time and time again, always just a breath away; just a lick, a whisper, a bite separating him from stretching himself across and plunging straight into the black pit of oblivion and beastly pleasure that was kept from him. 

“Please… please… Ron… inside… at least touch me, you bastard…. _There_ … _motheroffuckinggod_ , there… god!!!”

He was close, so close he could smell the sweet juices of his own release and he’s been cruelly kept tethering on a verge of mother of all climaxes for too long, too fucking long and, _oh, please_ …  he was ready to come _now_ , oh, s _o motherfucking now_ , right his minute…. Just a shove of those wonderful fingers inside him, just one… a scratch of fingernails across the sensitive skin down his ribs and the lick of that silken infernal tongue up his neck, _oh, yes,_ always that… perhaps a calculated brutal pinch to the nipples and the teeth sinking into soft flesh simultaneously, _ohgodchristalmighty, yesssss,_ and Draco was almost there.

He needed him inside, _nownownow, rightfuckingnow_ and Ron must have read his hot dirty mind because he felt him chuckle into his neck and whisper viciously:

“Ready? I bet you are, beautiful… I bet you _think_ you are…”

And it seemed as if finally Draco Malfoy was about to get fucked out of his mind.

He had been kept waiting empty for too long, too fucking long, trembling and aching, needy and ready, oh, so _incredibly ready_ for the invasion, shamelessly offering a wet stretched pulsating hole that begged for its master, reduced to a string of frantic pleas only Ron knew how to draw out of him and now was the time… Finally, _finally_ at long-fucking-last he was allowed to push himself onto the hot slick monster of a cock he spent every free moment fantasising about and it overwhelmed him, shutting his mouth close and locking his brain numb.  

As soon as he felt himself being filled up, his own shaft filled impossibly, bringing him to the very edge of exploding, as if the very sensation of feeling so full, so madly incredibly full and fulfilled, could make him come on his own. He could feel his own body writhing in those big commanding hands, chasing a mad desperate rhythm, tearing itself in two in numb pleas for release and it was all screams and bloody fucking stuttering mess that didn’t count as a language when the big shaft finally re-discovered that sweet aching spot inside him and began slamming against it in a way that made him howl and spill his sanity and _all_ of his secrets. When Ron finally knocked him back and breached him hard and brutal, he was riding out his ultimate fantasy.

“Ron… you motherfucking bastard, fuck me… fuck me hard… hard, hard, hard, harder… oh, please, _harder_ … you need to ruin me, baby… need to fuck me and ruin me and use me… so I’m no good anymore… let me be your fucktoy, gorgeous… your hole to fill, to slam this gorgeous-dirty beast of a cock into me… and just _screw_ me into the mattress with it … make me scream… yeah, _fuck_!! Yeah… just like that… c’mon, you know how I like it, beautiful… fuck me down into the fucking floor, you _sonofabitch_ … dress your cock into me, wear me, fucking wear me... tight as skin... you crazy motherfucking deranged… god of sex… let me be your slut... your needy bitch in heat, your cock-sucking slave…  I’ll do anything… fucking anything… god, I need it so… just take me there… nearly there now, baby… just a… just a…”

 “I love you, Draco,” the redhead whispered into his ear. “Only you. I’ll come for you, baby. I’ll come _all over_ you. Now, come for me, gorgeous…”

And the thin string that kept Draco Malfoy sane and anchored in this side of reality snapped with a slick vengeance; his sweat-covered body arched and almost tore in two as the wonderful hungry cock and the sweet longing words finally sent him into roaring blissful darkness with the speed of a cannonball and he was no longer aware of the spurts of pearly cream that burst out of his cock, flooding his stomach nor of those that erupted deep inside him, all over his aching needy insides. And he rocked himself deeper, forever deeper into the dooming pits of slick ecstasy, he couldn’t recount the strained aching words of belonging and surrender that were pushed out of him and left hanging in the air “ _Ron, fuck… my love… don't leave me... godfuckinggod, Ron, mine… all mine…_ ” as he broke away from this world. He unravelled completely.

It took him an eternity to come to his senses. His bonds gone, he found himself deeply submerged into his lover’s arms, as if the redhead wanted to hide and protect him and keep him to himself some more after he had him surrender so spectacularly. And for Draco it was heaven. He smiled blissfully, languidly like a lazy cat inside the half-shadow of his embrace and let himself enjoy how very boneless he felt. He refused to think how very destroyed his favourite redhead had left him.

As much as he loved their insane crazy fucking, he loved this part best of all.

“What did you tell her…?” a soft warm voice broke through his half-consciousness, “What in Merlin’s name did you tell her that she wants to leave me now? And why, for fuck’s sake, Draco, why?!”

There was some sort of urgency in his voice that made Draco’s body respond before the full meaning of the words hit him. His eyes opened in awe and his hand shot up to push the fiery hair out of his view so he could look directly into his eyes.

“She… you mean your _wife_?! _Your wife wants to leave you_!?”

He could hardly believe his words… or his luck! Whatever has gotten into the demented Mudblood?! Oh, like he could give a fuck, she was leaving - _she was leaving Ron to him_! - and suddenly he couldn’t even hear his heart beating through the rush of blood in his ears anymore.

“So… it wasn’t you?”

For some reason Ron’s voice sounded disappointed and Draco frowned… there was something _there,_ in his voice, that got all the alarm bells in his head ringing and yet his befuddled, fucked apart, tired brain couldn’t pin-point it fast enough. So he shook his head silently and a bit more of the blue brilliance disappeared from those mesmerising orbs. It was as if the stars in his eyes were being extinguished one by one and the blond could feel the panic grab him by the neck.

“I just thought… if it was you… perhaps…. I could ask you why and… I just thought you maybe… never mind,” Ron ended quietly, his eyes now a desperate colour of dark blue sea and a strange calm settling over his features. “Never mind. It was a stupid thought after all. Utterly impossible… just crazy. Forget it. Do you have any idea who could have done it, then?”

But there was no answer. Too late, too fucking late Draco Malfoy finally came to realize what this was all about and when the recognition hit him, he could have run his stupid blond head straight into the wall. When he recognised how spectacularly he had fucked up, his mind went completely blank for a minute. He couldn’t utter a word. _Ron had figured it out_. Very nearly, he did. All he had to say to his words was _yes_ , that he’d done it, tell him about his conversation with the Mudblood from a couple of months ago and he would have had him. Ron would have asked him why and he could have told him “Y _ou know why...._ ” or _“Why do you even have to ask?”_ or some similarly insignificant rot as long as he showed him, showed him right and proper with his body and soul – and he would have had him.

He stared at him miserably, his brain frantically busy with the reckoning how on Merlin’s bloody earth he could undo the damage, but there was no answer. He blew it and the moment had passed. So without giving it a proper thought he just shook his head miserably and Ron rambled on as if he didn’t just brush against what could be the breaking point in their relationship:

“I didn’t think anyone else knew. She must have figured it out on her own, then, bloody brilliant that she is! She confronted me yesterday, told me she knew about Thursdays and told me she was leaving me. Then she slapped me – God knows I deserved it, I can’t believe she let me get away with just that! – and then said some non-sense about making it count. Merlin knows what she meant with _that_ ….”

Draco thought he knew _exactly_ what the annoying splendid woman had meant with it, but it was irrelevant at the moment, there was a more important question at the tip of his tongue and his voice trembled a little when it burst out of him:

“When?” he asked, ignoring his surprise, his attention completely focused on getting the answer which was going to tell him when he might, just _might_ get a second chance to get this right. “When, when is she leaving you, Ron? Did she say? Is she gone already, then? How much longer?”

“Bloody hell, someone’s all fussy,” Ron mumbled somewhat confused. “Calm your tits, man, she’s not going anywhere until September. She says she doesn’t want to upset Hugo – you know my little ginger has been all lost without his Albie at his side – and she wants to wait until then – but she would no longer come with me from the train station after Hugo’s gone. Why do you care? What does it matter?”

Draco could have hugged the crazy Mudblood bitch that was letting him go. She had figured it out somehow  – Merlin knows if she was truly that brilliant or she had some help, it didn’t really matter to him – and more importantly, she decided to step aside… She was getting the biggest fattest basket of roses owls could carry! She opened the door for him to come and get his favourite redhead, opened it wide open with a big “ _come in_ ” invitation at the entrance and… she was wonderful.

He might have blown it just a minute ago, but it was just a temporary set-back, without the possessive brilliant wife at the scene it was really just a matter of time before Ron had another precious revelation - and this time Draco would be ready. And the blond just _knew_ ; he _knew_ that this time he could make him understand, could make him surrender, could make him stay.

Wrapped into his ecstatic thoughts he entirely forgot he had left Ron without an answer and when the question came, he was completely caught off guard:

“Why did you divorce Astoria, Draco?”

Ron’s voice was quiet as if he thought he had no right to ask this question and from this close up his eyes were so impossibly blue Draco might have drowned inside of them a little. The redhead had never asked him " _why_ ", he had only quietly accepted the news and never touched the subject, not even with a word. And though weeks after divorce, Draco was ready for it, _thought_ he was ready for it, the question just never came and now that it did, the most impossible thing floated out of his mouth.

“Because she wasn’t good enough anymore. She was never good enough.”

“I liked her,” Ron said, his voice still quiet, almost thoughtful. “I thought you two had a good life together.”

“She hated your guts, Ron, hated you from the moment you tricked her into allowing that dance at our wedding…” his voice died away, the memory of the love and passion-charged moments they shared still so fresh and alive in his mind as it had all happened yesterday and he had to force himself to continue: “And there was nothing between us, not now, not ever, except Scorpius. And once my boy was gone...”

“Have you met someone new then?” Ron interrupted and the blond’s words froze on his lips. _What?!_ Where did this come from!? How the fuck did the befuddled cogs in his brain work to make him reach that impossible conclusion!?

“It’s just.... you said she was not good enough _anymore_ , so I reckoned you must have met someone; someone new, someone worthy of you, someone you could make your life in the spotlight with...” Ron’s voice faded to nearly nothing at the end of the sentence and he looked utterly lost and unfathomably sad. “I wouldn’t be angry at you, you know,” he added quietly. “I’d just like to know... not to see it in a bloody newspaper for the first time... it’s hard...”

He closed his mesmerising strangely moist eyes and his soft mouth quivered and pressed together stubbornly not to spill the sadness and Draco’s heart just broke at the sight of this man’s stubborn selflessness and blind self-denial. He stared at him, willing him to look at him, to read the truth from his eyes, to read and recognise and acknowledge that there could be no one else for Draco, that no one else was ever going to be good enough, that it was him, Ronald Weasley, who was the only person on Draco Malfoy’s mind and safely locked inside his crazy heart. But Ron wouldn’t look at him and the right words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t be daft,” his stupid Malfoyian mouth had blurted at long last in a strangely raspy voice and he tried to undo the edge of his words by touching his cheek in a gentle gesture. “You know there’s no one else... how could you not know, how can you be so...”

“Thick,” Ron finished his words bitterly and got up in a sudden surge of anger, so he was now sitting on a bed, facing away from him. “Yeah, that’s me, the thick and outright stupid Ron Weasley, your Thursday fuck... at your service, Malfoy...” His voice was so crushed that the shards of pain were impossible to miss and the blond just stared at him, completely frozen in the face of this sudden onslaught of despair.

“God, I better not tell you what I thought, what I hoped for when she told me she knew – you’d laugh yourself sore! You’re right, I am stupid, stupid and deluded to think you’d ever... never mind, I’m a certified fool and I don’t need your disdain. I just wish... I wish you stopped putting me down for once and...  it’s not like I thought you liked me for my brain, you know. I know I’m not that smart and... I’m not a good and respectable company for you and... you probably just think I’m a good fuck and convenient, but certainly not someone you could... _fuck_... just... I need to go,” he said hastily in a shaky voice and before Draco Malfoy could unfreeze his stunned brain, the redhead was already putting his clothes on.

“Ron, wait...” was all he managed and goddammit he was so bloody broken he could not move fast enough to stop him. “Just wait, wait a bloody minute, what the fuck was this all about?!”

But before he could reach him the redhead turned and looked straight at him:

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t love you the way I do, Draco Malfoy,” he said quietly. “But I do and I can’t help it. It’s killing me, this love, it kills me to be away from you and want to be with you all the time and I can’t because you’ll never... you’ll never think of me as your equal. But it’s alright, I’ll take whatever I can get from you, I’ll live on scraps of whatever you can give me, even if you can’t bring yourself to call it love. But I’ll call it whatever I want, Draco. And I call it love. Even if we never speak of this again, I want you to know that. It’s the only love I’ll ever know. See you on Thursday, precious.”

And before the blond could even open his mouth to object, he disapparated from the spot and Draco just stared at the empty spot and after a long while he whispered quietly: “I call it love as well, Ron.”

God, was there ever a more oblivious person born into this world than Ronald Weasley!? And a bigger fool than himself for not telling him outright that he was completely bonkers about him and quit playing these stupid games that were making them both miserable?! Not for the first nor the last time in his life Draco Malfoy cursed the stiff Malfoyian form he was born into that wouldn’t let him act spontaneously and just get on his fucking knees in front of the man he adored to make a goddamn point that this wonderful fool he fell in love with clearly needed to understand!

But it was what it was – with Granger leaving in autumn he had another miserable nine months worth of Thursdays-only meetings to look grimly upon... but at least he had that. And he was determined to make his intentions known once she’s gone – one way or another. He couldn’t afford to have another conversation like this last one, his heart ached at the mere thought of it, full to the brim with unspoken words Ron deserved to hear. Words about how incredible he found him, his loyalty, the hope he always knew how to give him when he felt shattered, his unwavering love… his priceless love, the love he was dead-set on making shine one day. He’ll get there. He had to.

Somewhere down the road of his life it became impossible for Draco Malfoy to imagine a life away from Ron Weasley. Not for much longer. Not if he didn’t have to. He just needed to find a way to break it to the man who thought so little of himself he couldn’t imagine the love he inspired in a someone like himself, the haughty Slytherin who wouldn’t know how to spell the word without him. He had nine months to figure it out. And all of the sudden that didn’t seem like an awful lot of time.

~

“Albie…”

The quiet sigh was devoted, full of bliss and of dreams getting fulfilled and Albus Potter ate it right out of the mouth of one Hugo Weasley. He couldn’t stop kissing him once he had a taste of it; couldn’t find ways and opportunities and half-chances enough to be alone with him and steal that forbidden treasure that lay in the softness of those full lips, always so innocent and oh, so complying. Hugo always played along and it was a game full of thrill that came with hiding and with shivers crawling all over Albus’s skin if he’s done it for just a bit too long… It just… felt like heaven, kissing Hugo and Albus could feel himself sinking into the slick pit of addiction. He knew it was wrong, he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself.

Tonight it was the Weasley family Christmas dinner at the Burrow and the house was full to the brim with redheads of all hues - which kind of made it hard for Albus Potter to disappear, because he, the only Potter child who inherited his dad’s colours, stood out like a sore thumb with his raven hair. But he had to try anyway. He was only going to have a few more days with Hugo before he had to return back to school and he needed to soak up as much of his warmth as he could to feed on the memories when loneliness hit hardest. Only half a year more, he told himself. He only had to do six meagre months and then he’ll be able to hang out with his cousin for six more years, every day. Now that was something to look forward to! They’re going to rock that old school to the ground together, they’re going to be unstoppable! But until then…

Albus Potter had inherited a ruthless streak from both, his resolute father and his mother, one of the toughest Quidditch players Holyhead Harpies had ever boasted – as well as quite a bit of the fuck-all attitude from his grandfather James on top of that – so when his mouth found and hungrily sucked onto the soft velvet of Hugo Weasley’s lips, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse if they were going to get found out. Which, really, was just a question of time, considering how often they did it. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences – they only had a few short days together and he was going to use them to make sure Hugo knew who he belonged to.

He wasn’t going to go down the path of dad, yearning for Uncle Ron the way he did, not saying a word unless he got tipsy – only to be rejected, however gently, time and time again. He suspected if dad had opened his silly shy mouth earlier and spoke to Uncle Ron about his feelings, their lives might have turned out completely different, hell, he might have even never been born! Well, at least he had _something_ to thank Scorpius’s father for… But dad was born into a different world than he was, a world at the edge of war and perhaps he didn’t have time for such unimportant frivolities such as love – though now it didn’t make it any less painful to watch him stare at Uncle Ron with that hungry smitten look on his face and trying in vain to spend a few minutes alone with his striking best mate – a nearly impossible task in a house spilling over with people.

Albus couldn’t imagine his frustration and his heart squeezed in his chest at the mere thought of how desperate he might be. It only made him press Hugo into the wall tightly and collect those soft warm kisses from the sweet mouth that finally brought an involuntary moan onto his lips. The charge he felt running down his body was beyond words.

“Albus? Hugo? Are you in here?”

Shit… dad. Again. Harry Potter seemed to have a nose for finding his younger son when no one else could and one of these days they won’t be able to jump apart fast enough. And Albus had no doubt his father, of all people, would be able to guess from the swollen lips, the panting chest and the starry eyes what they were up to. He knew his dad was the only one who could possibly understand. But they were children and they had already ventured much too far away from the simple innocent affection between two kids. Hugo made his head spin and this was not a child’s feeling. And if his father ever read this much from their reaction, Albus knew that there was a good chance that his inherent common sense would persuade him that it wasn’t healthy for either of them to allow this to continue.

And as soon as they slipped out of the broom closet, Albus could tell his dad knew. Hugo, though Weasley red, came out after him and went to stand behind him silent, but looking entirely unapologetic. And somehow that brave look in those electric blue eyes gave Albus courage to lift his chin up and stare at his dad defiantly. For a moment there, his dad looked confused.

“I thought I might find you here…” he started, sounding unsure as to how he should proceed, but then looked his son straight in the eyes, so distinctly alike his, and said quietly: “I can’t keep catching you doing this, Albus. I don’t need to say why, you know.”

“Then I suggest you stop looking for us,” offered Hugo quietly from behind his back in an almost sloppy voice, sounding strangely like his rational mother proposing a “solution”, unique to his crazy-wired brain. “Because you won’t be able to stop us in half a year or so…. Besides, we’ve only got days now, we can be more careful.”

But after shooting him an incredulous look Harry Potter shook his head resolutely and looked at them both sternly:

“Hugo… Albus, this is wrong,” he said in his Head Auror voice. “It’s my fault, I’ve let this go on long enough, but I thought it was just… I didn’t think it through, I should not have let this happen. You need to step apart, boys. You’re cousins, you haven’t met any of the world yet, haven’t given any other people a chance to get close to you. I’m sorry, but this… it is not healthy,” he said determinedly and looked at Hugo sternly: “And before you get smart with me, Hugo Weasley, consider yourself lucky I haven’t told your mother yet, she would have sent you to different school, you know that as well as I do!”

“Tell her what?” said Hugo matter-of-factly, crossed his arms on his chest – another subconscious gesture he picked up from his mother - and looked his uncle straight in the eye. “You haven’t seen anything to speak of, Uncle Harry and using legilimency on minors is forbidden, even for a Head Auror and Deputy Minister of magic. I _checked_. Their memories are unreliable anyway, too heavily mixed with dreams and imagination,” he cited as if he was reading it straight from the text book – and then relaxed a little: “Besides – dad would never let her put me anywhere else. Weasleys have always gone to Hogwarts and they always will. Try telling my dad different and he’ll go… well, all Weasley on you,” he smiled thinly, knowing full-well that his uncle would know how to appreciate the mental image. 

This time Harry Potter’s eyes shone with a scary green glow.

“Your father doesn’t discipline you nearly often enough, Hugo Weasley,” he said coldly. “But it is not my place to do so, though I’d avoid open confrontations with me if I were you; I would never consciously hurt you, but I’m sure you’ve heard it from your parents that I don’t have _all_ of my magic tightly under control – call it a sad remnant of the war,” he said in a harsh voice and looked straight into the splendid blue eyes. And it was his undoing that he had years ago fell in love with the same colour, because suddenly they were lit up with a smile and a million sparkles and Hugo Weasley spoke softly:

“I know you can hurt me, Uncle Harry. But you won’t. I can’t even imagine how you’d begin explaining it to my dad…. Look… You’re the best uncle there is, you’re only doing this because you want the best for us, I understand that… but so must you: we don’t want to be punished for your mistakes. Albus, tell your father why we hide in dark corners and won’t let each other go. Or I will.”

It took some effort for somewhat stunned Harry Potter to tear away his eyes from the blue skies of Hugo Weasley, glowing with fearless brilliance – Merlin, why did that boy have to look every bit like a cut-out copy of his dad at this age!? - but finally they came to dwell in the big green orbs of his younger son and from this close up they reflected his own image almost magically.

“Because I don’t want to end up like you,” said Albus quietly and when he saw the shock and the pain slash right through the face of his dad, the one true hero he had, he grabbed his hand hastily and tried to explain: “It hurts me to see the way you are, dad, please, understand… Always chasing the impossible, trying for scraps... And I often think what it would be like if you spoke sooner, if you spoke at all. You’d have me go out there and chase what I already found, dad. Hugo is my… he makes me feel whole. He perfects me. I can’t explain, but... it hurts, here, in my chest when he’s gone. And I… panic at the very thought I might not see him for some time.”

He touched his dad’s face gently, etched with misery, and tried his best to explain some more: “I know… life is strange, yeah? I know you don’t always end up where you planned to, I thought a lot about it and _I know_ , dad. Try as I may, I might not end up with Hugo after all. But right now – I don’t care. Right now, he’s the only one that matters. I don’t want to lose what we have just because a bunch of adults think it’s wrong. What do you people know?! You’re all miserable, the whole lot of you, and you have no idea how happy he makes me! I went looking for Hugo when I was less than a year old and you all thought it was adorable – and now you’re telling me to let go of what I’ve found. People spend their life-times looking for what I he gives me, all that warm, fuzzy... oh, you know...  _People like you_ , dad,” he said and saw his father crumble in front of his eyes.

Harry Potter pulled his hand out of his son’s abruptly and turned away from them, facing the wall. He held himself across the elbows as if he was dead cold and had to somehow keep himself together.

“What do you boys know…” he said in a voice that was raspy and bone-tired and so very old that Albus threw a scared pleading look at Hugo. “… how it is to feel love like that? And not to have it returned? I don’t remember being born into love… it has been taken from me before I could form conscious memories. I spent a decade thinking that there was something wrong with me, that I was filth, a nobody, a burden, unworthy of the roof over my head, _utterly_ unworthy of any affection. And then I entered the magical world and suddenly – there he was. Ron Weasley. A person bursting with life and laughter and… well, love. He was the first person that ever hugged me. Hugged me and held me and didn’t let go through my darkest moments. I’ve never known a person like that, I’ve never had one to myself. So I didn’t know how to ask, Albus. I was too… _damaged_.

But she did. It cut my heart right open when I saw that she fell for him and I realized where this was headed. She knew… I know she must have known how I felt about him and still she had done it… took him away from me. She must have known he’d never fall for me. He was born into love, he had known different kinds of it and he could tell them apart. I couldn’t. I only had one and I clung to it fiercely. I still do. She’s one of my best friends and back then I was too bloody lost and hurt to bring myself to compete.

The day before they married… his bachelor party. God forgive me, I tried to kiss him, it was just how desperate and drunk I was. And for a moment there I thought he hesitated and his beautiful soft lips gave in – and then he pushed me away and my heart was never the same again. That moment he hesitated – it gave me hope, so much of that bloody _poisonous_ hope... And I’ve been trying to make him complete that kiss ever since. Every chance I get. It feels as if… I only need him to show me that he could love me if things were different… and my heart would right itself and I could find peace. Yet he never does. Pushes me away every bloody time. After all these years, he still loves her, he still does. And I’m cursed with _this_ …" 

He ruffled his hair wildly as if he completely lost his compass in the wilderness of this unexpected out-pour of emotion, but then the words just burst out of him:

"God, I love him… the way I do, I wouldn’t wish this kind of love on anyone… so bloody hurtful. I guess I was just trying to spare you boys from pain that comes with love like that. I see myself and him in you, I can’t help it, I see what this could have been… and I’m happy for you - and it eats my heart like acid at the same time. Sometimes I daydream I would ask her to release him, just for a day, you know… make him free of his ties and let me have him, just for a day, so I could also have a taste of happiness. I know I never could, but…”

The tiny bony fingers of Hugo Weasley crawled into a crook between his head and shoulder and rested there for a moment, soothing in their warmth.

“She regrets it, you know,” he said softly. “They had a fight once, not one of their usual, bickering ones, but a proper one, a terrible one. And she told him she regrets taking him from you…”

Harry Potter turned around abruptly and looked into the silken blue of Hugo Weasley’s eyes in disbelief.

“But she also told him another thing,” Hugo continued resolutely and his thumb brushed gently against his uncle’s wet cheek. “She told him she knew he never loved her… and she was right,” he said firmly and felt the pulse in Harry Potter’s neck go wild under his fingers. “My dad never loved my mom, Uncle Harry,” he repeated clearly straight into his uncle’s face, wearing an expression of absolute incredulity. “He does love… someone, but not her. You don’t know what – or who - you’re up against here. But for all it’s worth, it’s not my mom,” he repeated stubbornly. “She tried for his heart and came away empty-handed, just like you.”

“But _who_ , then…??”started Harry, completely wild-eyed. “Who, Hugo?! For God’s sake, have mercy, child, and tell me…”

But the little ginger shook his head adamantly.

“I can’t,” he said curtly. “I promised and I can’t. Don’t try to make me, you’ll just hurt me and still I won’t be able to speak. But you might want to talk to my mom, I think she might have something to tell you.”

As fast as they came, his fingers were gone and so was Hugo; the slender ginger slipped past him as if he was a mere shadow.

“Talk to Aunt Hermione, dad… please,” Albus said pleadingly and pressed a shy scared kiss onto his parent’s cold stunned cheek before he hurried to catch up with his elusive cousin.

He caught up with him right in front of the living room and pressed him against the wall angrily, brutally.

“Why the hell did you go and do that for, Hugo?!” he hissed seething. “It’s my dad, you can’t go and hurt my dad just like that, you evil little shit!”

But Hugo just looked at his cousin with smart blue eyes and said:

“You’re dad needs a resolve, Albie. Curse me all you like, you know it as well as I do. He deserves the truth and my dad would sooner walk into his own grave than spill it, if he thought he was protecting Uncle Draco. And knowing your dad, he won’t go see my mom. Not Harry Potter, he won’t. Not now that he knows. Now that my mother is out of the equation, he’ll go directly to the source. He’ll go to see my dad. And then… something’s gotta give.”

~

He waited for him, long into the evening, right up to the dark purple edge of the night, when the vivacious household slowly gave into fatigue and each of its members finally said their goodbyes and disappeared into their respective quarters. He waited patiently through the lengthy over-bearing Christmas dinner, full of loud laughter (mostly Charlie), crazy anecdotes (courtesy of Bill), drunken toasts (George who still looked as if he was trying to get drunk for two) and off-tune carols (started by Arthur, much to the chagrin and scolding of his wife).

He couldn’t eat a bite, he just pushed his food around the plate and secretly vanished it when no one was looking and his eyes were drawn like magnets onto the uncommonly pale, almost translucent face of his best mate, sitting opposite him. Ron ate next to nothing as well, but he opted for covertly feeding a cat under the table to cover up for his lack of appetite, while his eyes remained turned downwards, strangely pensive and dead calm. To Harry, he had never looked more beautiful. His fingers itched to touch the pretty freckled face and lift his chin up, look into those eyes that held him captive for the longest time and tell him how very much he wanted to love him.

But he couldn’t do that in front of all those people and Ron was never left alone, not even for a moment. So waiting it was and observing carefully, that his mark didn’t slip past him into the safety of the sleeping house. Head Auror Potter couldn’t afford to lose his precious prey tonight. And finally he got him where he couldn’t get away.

Bill’s kids have been putting up the magical mistletoe for as long as he could remember, but ever since Victoire started fancying Harry’s god-son Teddy, she got downright vicious with it. People had gotten used to rolling their eyes up and just kissing whoever it was that they happened to stumble upon under one of those, because the eldest Weasley offspring was merciless with this particular charm. George had once tried to sit it out when he found himself under it with Percy’s stiff wife Audrey, but in the end he just had to piss too urgently to give a fuck anymore and begrudgingly he pressed the chastest kiss he had ever given onto the purple-red cheek of the mortified young woman – only to have to do it again, this time properly, because nothing but a kiss onto the mouth could release a person. And now Harry made sure he had Ron cornered under one of those.

The redhead had been sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace for the last hour or so before that, with Fire-whiskey in his hand, practically motionless and deeply submerged into his own thoughts. And Harry had been watching him. That was, after all, his favourite occupation. He saw the bitter wrinkle at the side of his lovely soft mouth, noticed the despair that settled somewhere deep in the dark blue eyes. His every instinct screamed at him to go to him and hug him fiercely and make him feel better – but for once Harry Potter went against his instincts. He needed to know what this was all about, needed to know too urgently. With his heart at stake, he could be ruthless.

And then Ron got up to stretch his long limbs and shake the stiffness out of them, inadvertently giving Harry an enticing view of the creamy white skin with a galaxy of golden freckles that dried his mouth on the spot – and that’s when Harry moved with him. Quietly, with all the stealth of the Head Auror he was at his heals before his redheaded heart-throb could react and when Ron stepped under the door-frame with a ridiculously rich mistletoe hanging above it and felt rather than noticed his presence – it was already too late.

He stared down the bottle-green eyes of his best-mate and Harry smiled the tiniest of smiles, with his heart beating so wildly in his neck he was beginning to feel dizzy. Or maybe it was just the presence of Ron. He still remembered feeling like this around him, remembered it from happier times and he looked up into the blue eyes to ask him… beg him, to help him resolve those feelings that were making it impossible to breathe.

And for once Ron didn’t try to get away.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself... _to us_ , Harry?” he spoke quietly and when his blue eyes bored straight into the Harry’s green orbs, the raven-haired man could feel the shadow of connection that once bound them reach through time and stretch its long bony fingers around them.

“You know I cannot give you what you want, you know it as well as I do and still you keep on trying… Why?” Ron asked softly and Harry’s lips just quivered under the harsh edge of truth they contained. But he had come too far now to quit, he had to try and save his life, his sanity, his heart, whatever was left of it.

“My son told me today, he feels sorry for me,” he said barely audibly, his voice almost crumbling under the bitterness of the moment. “He told me I’m chasing the impossible, I’m trying for scraps. But from you, Ron, I’ll take scraps if that’s all there is. Just give me something, for god’s sake have mercy on me and give me something, it’s been years…” his shaky voice died in begging and suddenly the generous soft mouth he had spent so many nights fantasizing about was upon him as Ron Weasley finally, in the last god-forsaken moment that separated Harry Potter from sinking into utter darkness, came to his rescue.

“Christ… oh, Christ, Ron…” was all he managed as his knees buckled and he was left to the mercy of those undoing warm lips that did most ungodly things with his eager, hungry mouth.

“Oh, I know all about scraps,” he heard him whisper between a sloppy kiss that had him stretch his body for more and a slick warm tongue that finally slipped into his mouth and made his very toes tingle as if he had licked him from head to toe with its wet sloppy softness. Harry’s moan was unforgivably loud, needy, unabashed, unexpected and totally unstoppable. The hot wave of lust that slammed down his body took him completely by surprise and oh, goddamn, how could he forget, this was Ron, his Ron and he always used to make him feel like that.

“I’ve been living off scraps for years now,” his voice came to him as if through a haze and the bitterness in it and its despair didn’t matter, because finally Ron Weasley was kissing him towards the edge of bliss, just kissing him, deeply, drunkenly, angrily, kissing him right and kissing him wrong and it was all there was and it was more than enough and over the top and then some…

“Scraps is all I’ve got for you, Harry,” he heard him whisper in a raw livid voice between heavenly kisses that made him press hard against his thigh and roll his hips towards brutal completion. “I’ve given everything else away years ago, almost 20 now, and scraps - a promise, an illusion, forever an illusion – is all I’ve got in return. I can’t give you more. This kiss… it’s all there is. A memory of our youth, of our innocence... an apology for all the wrong I’ve done you... An echo of what could have been, if I wasn’t cursed… Just this, Harry. Just this kiss…. Just this once. Make the best of it… and may we both forget in the morning.”

But Harry knew he didn’t want to forget. Ron’s large hands remained chastely cupping his face, touching lightly, inadvertently around the sensitive ears and spreading their intoxicating warmth down his neck, driving him absolutely mad with desire and - oh, god, _fucking god,_ how was it, that the man wasn’t even touching him properly and Harry could already feel his nipples growing hard, a sure tell-tale sign that he was on the edge of coming hard, as the wonderful mouth worked him with all it got. He drove his swollen confined cock up his thigh with all the pent-up frustration of love-crazed years and suddenly realized that it wasn’t going to be enough, that he needed to feel its hot heavy hardness push into his own itchy hand and that Ron didn’t care if he did as he continued to eat his face and whispering sweet nothings and making Harry’s sanity and about a million of desperate moans and pleas disappear into the hot velvety pit of his dooming mouth.

He fisted himself to near completion and when the world was already spinning and he was brushing at the very edge of ecstasy with his painfully swollen cock, he whispered: _“Ron… please… “_ not knowing what it was that he was begging for and his wonderful, beautiful, treacherous best mate leaned into him and gave it to him:

“If I could choose whom to love, Harry… it would be you.”

And Harry Potter blacked out with a scream.

And like always, Ron held him when he came to his senses. Rocked him safely in his arms and his wondrous blue eyes gave a tired smile. Harry couldn’t imagine living without him. What a bloody fool he was, thinking he could get a release, a resolve in the hands, on the mouth of one Ron Weasley. The man was intoxicating. And now he only wanted more. Except… Ron slowly relaxed his arms around him and something alike soberness and panic crossed his face and Harry realized, he couldn’t have it.

“Who do you love, Ron?” he asked him quietly, dangerously, because if it wasn’t Hermione… if it truly, really _wasn’t_ one of his best friends, Harry was finally ready for a fight.

“It’s none of your business,” murmured the pretty redhead and nervously ran a hand through his silken fiery hair just before he attempted to move away. “God, I fucked up... This was a mistake. I need to go… need to tell…”

“I know it’s not Hermione, I just… know that,” Harry said firmly, barely avoiding exposing his little informant to his father and betraying his trust. "So who is it?"

Ron stopped dead in his track and threw him a tired look: “I can’t tell you that. Just… I can’t. Please don’t pry on me, I’ll only start avoiding you and then it would be both our loss.”

“I’ll find out, you know I will,” Harry told him almost warningly and finally saw the familiar Weasley temper flare inside his eyes.

“Stay out of it, Potter!” Ron almost hissed and it was a fresh pang of pain to Harry’s heart to see how fiercely he defended what he thought of as his own. “I would tell you, if I could, if it was only my secret. But it is not. You would only hurt people and break lives. It’s not worth it, so I’m telling you to let it go!”

“You’re worth it to me, Ron,” Harry said calmly. “You’re worth the chaos and the broken lives and the pain. If you come as a reward, so be it. I’ll ruin it all. For you.”

This time Ron turned around and crossed the distance between them in one long stride of his legs:

“It is not in your nature, Harry Potter, to destroy,” he said softly. “And I don’t believe you would. Trust me, when I tell you, I don’t have a heart to give you anymore, Harry. Even if you pick a fight, there’s nothing to win. I gave it away. A long time ago - and never got it back. I _cannot_ give you what you want, Harry,” he spoke almost desperately, but the green-eyed wizard merely grabbed onto his wrist feverishly, to the point of pain, and asked in a quiet dangerous voice:

“But did you mean it, Ron, did you truly mean it when you said that you’d pick me if you could choose?”

Quietly, resolutely, finger by finger Ron freed himself from the vicious grip and looked at his best mate straight in the eye – and from this close up the blue brilliance and the sadness in his eyes knocked the breath out of one Harry Potter:

“Oh, I meant it alright,” he spoke calmly, sincerely. “I would have chosen you in a blink and never look back, there’s simply no one better to have, Harry, you know that. But you see, the thing is – it was never a matter of choice much between us, more like a matter of fate. I got exactly whom I deserved. We were born for each other and there's no one else.”

And with these words he turned around and walked away without looking back. Which was a mistake. Because suddenly, unexpectedly and just like that Harry Potter knew who he was up against.

And the dark rage that flooded over him, destroyed whatever considerations he might have had left. He simply couldn’t let _him_ take something as precious as Ron. Not without putting up a fight.


	26. A good artist knows when to stop

Draco Malfoy paid one last look to his image in the mirror. He smirked proudly at his tall, impeccably clad figure, knowing that it, in fact, made no difference: it will all come to nothing the second Ron sets his large hands on him, pulls him into his embrace somewhat forcefully and starts brutally, unforgivably ravaging his clothes just to get to him, to the real, naked, trembling him, the flushed skin tingling with anticipation, the heart beating to be felt, the tenderness underneath bursting to be revealed, to be claimed. He couldn’t wait to belong to Ron Weasley. In the end he’ll help him ravage those priceless worthless clothes, he knew he would. He was that needy and in that much need to feel loved.

 _Anytime now._ He’ll come anytime now and perhaps this will be the day… Draco couldn’t wait. The three days since they took their kids to start a new year at Hogwarts dragged like heavy autumn mist and he was just bloody agitated and a right horrible menace to everyone, more so, because he didn’t get to see Ron at work. Bloody Potter interfered, who else!? The bespectacled bastard was becoming a proper pain in the arse. Ever since the New year there was hardly a week in which Ron was not called to attend this “special mission” or another with his best mate, who claimed that he could trust no one else, and every time Ron would return to him after a few days’ absence, silent, exhausted and looking somehow defiant and just fucked him as if there was no tomorrow.

The redhead never said a word about Potter to him, but Draco could see he was bothered. He was on the verge of asking him a few times… he didn’t even know what, just asking him, what on Salazaar’s bloody earth they had to do with that four-eyed fucker that was so bloody urgent and that was obviously making him miserable. And he would have done it, he _should_ have, it was just… he wasn’t going to waste the few precious moments they had together talking about another man, was he, least of all the Saviour, Harry bloody Potter who couldn’t wait to get his filthy greedy half-blood hands on Draco’s own piece of male perfection. Like a few days ago at the Platform 9 3/4. That _really_ ground his gears red-hot! That fucking insolent self-absorbed git!

They had all brought their children to board the train to Hogwarts, just like they did the year before, but for most of them the very air of the experience was entirely different. A year earlier Draco had felt somewhat victorious and his usual haughty overly-confident self – but this year behind him was a drill in patience like he’s never had before and now he was weary and alert, but somehow more hopeful than a year before. After all, the Mudblood was leaving after this day and it was only a matter of time….

And while Ron looked agitated and cornered a year ago, this time he looked completely unsettled and on edge as if he was expecting a surprise blow to come and to destroy everything. Draco felt unnerved by the mere look of him, looking as pale as a parchment, with eyes as big and blue as he was ever going to see them. It had left him with a sick odd feeling in the stomach as if something was off, but just like every other year, this day was so overwhelming in so many ways he simply didn’t have time to give it proper thought and in the end he consoled himself that it was probably just the fact that Ron was letting Hugo, the apple of his eye, go.

Draco knew that deep down in his heart Ron cared and worried about his son just a tad more than he did about his capable and self-sufficient daughter. The redhead cared like he hoped his parents had cared for him – and which, in all truth, they probably had, but never got to properly express it in all the abundance of children to account for. But perhaps it was also because Ron saw so much of himself in his son, that he desperately wanted to see his peculiar little ginger happy - and now he was about to let go off him and he could no longer have much hand in his destiny or the making of his happiness. Draco knew it was making him miserable. But he only had to look at Hugo and he knew Ron shouldn’t have worried.

Hugo simply _glowed_ with joy. He was practically jumping on the spot and his eyes kept on darting towards his “Albie” who took the effort to look at least half way distinguished, but his face just kept on following Hugo like a sunflower looking for the sun and every time their eyes met, he couldn’t keep a large, most blissful grin from spreading across his handsome features. As much as the youngest Potter son looked like his father, Draco just happened to think they were adorable. But they kept each to themselves and even close to their parents, as if they had somehow decided that they would hold on to their sweet little secret for just a while longer and not upset the adults.

And because Hermione was busy instructing Rose – “ _scolding_ ”, insisted Rose – what still counted as appropriate behaviour around Scorpius Malfoy – _“You really shouldn’t try to hold hands all the time, darling, it is ever so unbecoming!” _\- that meant Ron got to enjoy a few precious minutes alone in the company of the son he adored. And in those tightly knit moments they seemed to have engaged in an uncommonly sombre discussion as Hugo looked every bit stern and passionate – a shocking combination of his mother and father – and Ron suddenly had a miserable almost sulky expression on his face that was telling Draco that he was being lectured about something. And once Draco caught the last words Hugo had to say before he was pulled towards the train by the voice of Albus Potter, he knew he would have paid a hefty load of galleons to hear that particular conversation.

“For Merlin’s sake, dad, please don’t screw this up. He’s… you _really_ can’t see? God, of all the blind people in the world, dad… Just… _look_ at him properly, bloody _look-at-him_ and give him some credit! How can you _not_ know how he feels?! Just… give him a chance, alright? Don’t do anything hasty and give him a chance and I know - I just _know_ , alright?! - that you’ll be a much happier man by Christmas. I just… I love you so, dad, I don’t want to see you miserable,” Hugo said quietly and his last words simply drowned in a big bear hug his father had wrapped him in.

“Hugo Weasley, you freckled ginger prat, the train’s leaving in seconds! Are you coming or what, Hugh? Don’t make me come get you, I’d like to avoid missing the ride if I can - we both know how poorly that worked out for our dads!” Albus Potter, unscrupulously blocking the door to the Hogwarts Express, chanted half annoyed half nervous, his eyes all but glued on a tiny figure of his cousin who was still safely harboured in his big father’s arms.

“Better get you on board, then,” Ron said in a cracked voice and for once he didn’t even bother hiding the moisture in his eyes. “You don’t want to get stuck out here with your miserable ol’ dad. You boys take care of each other, alright,” Ron kissed the top of his ginger son’s head and lifted his heavy suitcase onto the train as if it weighed nothing. And then let him go. And his shoulders visibly slumped in the same moment.

As soon as the bony fingers of Hugo Weasley disappeared in the tight grip of Albus’s hand, one could hardly miss the big gasp of relief that Harry Potter’s son had exhaled, while Hugo’s face… well, it was just _aglow_ , wasn’t it, it suddenly lit up with the prettiest, most brilliant smile the blond had ever seen the boy flash. Draco knew what this was. He knew exactly how the little ginger felt.

He had mentioned it to Ron once, as casually as he could, that the obvious affection Hugo held for Harry Potter’s son seemed unusually strong for such a young age, but the redhead just looked at him thoughtfully, and when he spoke again, his voice was warm as if he had come to accept the universal truth and was comfortable with it:

“He’s a Weasley. And a part Prewett. That’s how we are. I know it seems a tad early for the kind of feelings he has for Albus… but I think all of us... we’re just wired that way, you know? My mom always used to tell anyone with ears that she had fallen in love with dad the moment she saw him emerging from Dumbledore’s office with a singed-off eyebrow. Dad never said much about it, but everyone knows they were pretty much an item from the get-go, over the moon about each other, those two. And I know for a fact that there was never any other than Harry for Ginny – she only had to set eyes on him and she was done for. And Bill. And Charlie. And Bill with Charlie. You know how it is…” he shrugged and then smiled his tiny light smile that Draco just wanted to eat straight of his face because it was so bloody adorable:

“I know I had feelings for you from the first moment I saw you. Very strong, most insane feelings. They used to drive me mental and I just didn’t know how to interpret them right; not as young as I was, growing up in the shadow of all that dad’s ranting about the Malfoys. I think there was… _envy_ , maybe – yeah, definitely that – you were just always so bloody impeccable and rich and eloquent and everything I was not. And then there was _hate_ … God, I hated you like crazy, I thought I did… but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, like you were always somewhere at the back of my mind, watching me, waiting for me to blunder and fuck up, so you could mock me some more.… “

He stopped shortly and smiled at the bittersweet memory; smiled from somewhere inside of those lovely eyes of his and Draco just lost himself inside Ron Weasley’s stunning orbs for a moment... Damn...  he really shouldn’t fall into the same trap over and over again - his thoughts had this really annoying habit to just _dissolve_ into a mush under the playful light in those exquisite eyes...

“It just made me work that much harder to be someone, you know,” Ron continued with a small smile. “And the harder I tried, the less likely it was I was ever going to impress you. It all just seemed so… worthless when you smirked at me and went on to ruin it all with a single cruel remark… And then there was just nothing else for me but to punch you into acknowledging me. And _that_ was another ultimate humiliation on top of all others, cause when I wrapped around you and heard you hiss all that filth at me, I swear to god you could get me hard in 30 seconds flat. Merlin, how I hated myself…  You have no idea what you used to do to me… what you still do to me,” he told him softly, alluringly, and captured his mouth with his hungry indulging lips and Draco forgot there was ever such a thing as a world outside of his embrace.

Yeah, it must have been something in the pureblood line of the Weasleys, something that made them form bonds of life-long love and affection at such an early age and once he glanced at his own son, staring dreamily into Rose Weasley’s clear blue eyes with a big goofy most un-Malfoyian smile on his face, he briefly wondered if, perhaps, it had been passed onto his Scorpius as well with the other remnants of Ron’s magic… He shrugged the thought off – he knew Scorpius had inherited enough of _him_ that it would be entirely hopeless trying to change his heart once it had made his choice. Malfoys were notoriously one-sided this way. What was theirs was theirs, exclusively so, and they fought for it murderously and guarded it jealously.

And that was why his blood turned to ice on the spot when his eyes finally darted away from the departing train and onto his lover – only to see Potter casually slip a hand around Ron’s big palm and the bony fingers locked around it like a deadly trap.

“He’ll be back soon, they all will be,” he heard him say and his attempt at sounding comforting rang as incredibly shallow and fake in Draco’s ears and the strangely victorious undertone in it was impossible to ignore. “You’ll see, Christmas holidays will be upon us in a jiffy and it will be just like last year…”

And though Ron’s fingers never returned the squeeze around the greedy hand, but merely continued to hang inside it as limp as a rag, all Draco could see was a thumb of Potter’s hand, drawing soothing circles inside Ron’s calloused palm and, goddammit, that was _his_ favourite place to cuddle to and to lick and he just _knew_ how every ridge and line tasted and fuck him to hell and back if he was going to let that happen!

“Weasley!” he called out and was surprised at his own voice coming out as a perfectly common Malfoyian drawl, entirely inexpressive of the turmoil that was going on inside him. And when Ron turned hastily, his melancholic blue eyes lighting up instantly, he hinted at Potter’s hand, still stubbornly holding onto the freckled fingers, and suggested casually:

“Would you care to let your lover-boy go for the tiniest second to discuss our urgent plans… you know... for _Thursday_?”

He could see the muscles in Potter’s face contract at the hopeless attempt to control the expression of pure undiluted hatred, but the soft smile that spread over Ron’s face was the only reward Draco was really after and it came without delay.

“Sure,” the redhead said curtly, in an unusually shaky voice as if he was somehow too hollow this day to manage more than a short string of words. “Harry, would you care to…? We won’t be a minute…”

“Oh, to hell with it, Ron, not today, surely! Oh, come-the-fuck-on… oh, whatever… if you really _must_ … I suppose,” Potter shrugged, attempting to look unfazed, but the rage just _oozed_ out of him. “Just… don’t let this bastard keep you too long. You promised me a pint lately… _at your place_ ,” he added venomously, staring directly at the blond as if he wanted to let him know he knew what this was all about and that two could play this game.

After that the raven-haired man let Ron’s hand go without hesitation as if he didn’t want to appear too desperate and Draco, in an acute attack of jealousy and possessiveness, just casually locked his arm around Ron’s elbow and pulled him behind. With a corner of his eye he managed to catch the murderous expression on Potter’s face and his right hand squeezed around the holder of his wand tightly. Potter was unpredictable at best, but _this_ … it had to be done. He couldn’t stand another minute of the scrawny git drooling over his man!

“So what is it… about Thursday?” Ron asked once the blond had dragged him far enough and just turned around the corner that looked abandoned. “You can’t make it or what?” he asked, his voice strangely dull and Draco later thought that god fucking _dammit_ , this should have been his first warning sign!

“Shut up,” he told him roughly instead and pressed against him, so there could be no mistake about what being pissed off and immersed deeply into that sexy earthy body-scent did to him. He launched at him with no words to spare and only after he had kissed him numb and brainless; kissed him angrily, possessively, almost cruelly, he remembered that he didn’t throw a single privacy charm around them… Oh, well… shit happens, he thought absent-mindedly and he just _couldn’t_ be bothered - who the fuck would expect him to care about the privacy charms when he was this needy and wanting and it was all going to come out sooner or later anyway…

He heard the a soft satisfied sigh exhale from the soft mouth and then those beautiful lips opened and took him right in and he sucked the sweet silken tongue straight into his mouth until he heard him give a tiny desperate moan and then he said it; he said it straight into that wonderful obliging mouth with the same anger and passion that consumed him:

“I don’t want you anywhere near him! _Understood?!_ Not in the same _room_ , not in the same _fucking world_ , if I could have it, and above all nowhere near enough for his fucking _hand_ touching you like that, do you hear me?!”

“You know… it’s not me, right?” Ron managed between another searing kiss and a barely contained moan. “It’s him every bloody time… and I can’t stop him… I can’t… I tried… telling him…”

“I know!” Draco hissed angrily and his fingers casually sought out one taut nipple he could feel pressing from under the tight Muggle shirt and when he felt the tiny metallic dragon give a hot puff he knew Ron was loving every tense desperate moment of it. “Saviour or not, I swear I’ll hex the bastard, if he keeps on pouncing on you like that! You’re _mine_ , goddammit! Mine… god, Ron…  Just tell him you’ll stay the fuck away from him, if he can’t even keep his greedy hands to himself in public… or something…”

“He’s married to my sister, you know…” Ron mumbled into his mouth. “I can hardly avoid him…. Besides… he’s my best friend, remember?” he dug his strong fingers into the long blond hair to kiss him thoroughly and like every bloody time this act of domination just knocked the breath out of Draco and left him helplessly jelly-legged.

“Fuck…” he moaned breathless, not even trying to keep it down any longer. “Just… _fix_ it, Ron. _Do_ something… Doesn’t that idiot know what a drooling fool he appears to be, holding hands like that?!”

And just like that, Ron’s body turned stiff and soft mouth let go of Draco’s almost immediately. There was genuine hurt inside those brilliant blue eyes all of the sudden and he made a small step backwards as if he was trying to put some distance between him and the source of pain.

“ _What_!?” Draco said irritated, too agitated, too fucking aroused and just too bloody livid to be able to read his lover properly. “What the fuck _now_ , Ron!?”

“Perhaps he doesn’t mind looking a drooling fool... for me... “ Ron spoke quietly and it cut Draco’s breath off to see a mixture of despair and impotent anger light up his eyes. “Not everyone’s ashamed to be seen with me in the broad daylight, you know?! I happen to _like_ holding hands! Even in public... it doesn’t always have to be sex to show someone you care... But you wouldn’t know about that, you clearly only care about the sex part... and about owning... it’s all yours, your property and it’s only sacred and precious _because_ it’s yours, not because it’s worth something on its own!”

His eyes flashed dangerously and suddenly Draco had a sickening feeling that he screwed up fabulously yet again. Between the heaving chest and brilliant anger in his eyes the blond found him obscenely appealing and his cock hurt along with his heart that there was any distance between them at all. This was all _wrong_. Ron Weasley should be in his arms, poisoning him with his intoxicating smell of sex and body heat that always felt like home, not throwing hurt and hurtful words at him from the distance! This was wrong. _Something was wrong_.

And because he had said nothing, but just continued to stare at the redhead with a look of genuine confusion and disbelief in his eyes, Ron’s anger was short-lived.

“But you don’t know any better, do you?” he quietly exhaled his frustration along with despair and closed his eyes. “You don’t know, because you’ve always lived in a world where everything is yours for the taking... And you told me the first day I was so bloody easy, didn’t you? I guess you didn’t even bother lying that one time. I... need to go now. He’s waiting for me and he’ll come and find us anytime now and trust me, you’d _really_ hate that. Just... he makes it about me and you never do, you know? I wish... oh, never mind.”

And Draco just stood there, all but cast in stone, with the weight of his heart pulling him down until he almost crumbled. And when his petrified legs finally moved to catch up with him and tell him, just bloody well spit it out for once, _shout_ at him, if he had to, to please, please come home with him, because his life was empty without him and his heart was too heavy for one person to carry alone – he once again came too late. He just caught the sight of Potter’s face lighting up when Ron approached him and then the motherfucker flashed one of those sexy victorious smiles that were his trademark just before his challenging green eyes moved onto Draco’s face without a blink and the smirk he gave could have made Lucius Malfoy himself proud.

“Ready to come home with me...?” he heard him say and it sounded far too much like an offer rather than a question. And with a calculated gesture the bastard, still smiling, grabbed Ron’s hand and _winked_ at Draco just before he disapparated them. Which was a good thing. Because right in that moment Draco could have done what Voldemort couldn’t and _murder_ him.

And the next day he found out Ron had been dragged away yet again to one of their super-secretive missions – but the little note that waited for him on the desk was in Ron’s own writing, telling him he’ll be back by Thursday. And that note was all that kept him going through those god-awful days in between. That, and the fact that he got to bark most viciously at the poor stuttering dork that was assigned as his temporary partner and seemed to be dead-frightened of him. He couldn’t be bothered feeling sorry for him – he got someone to vent his frustration on and if he doesn’t report him to the superiors, he might yet put a good word in for the hapless chap.

But now his agony was finally over and any minute now he’ll have Ron back and all to himself. Merlin, he had missed him… Perhaps this was the day after all, _their_ day… God, did those days in between always feel like forever?! They did so now, every week more so… 

And just like that he finally, at long last, heard a soft pop of apparation and he pulled his eyes away from the image in the mirror to greet him with a smile. And froze that way.

He just took one look at him and knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

~

Ron was dreadfully pale and his eyes looked feverish and almost electric blue. And he just stood there, exactly at the spot onto which he had apparated and stared across the room towards Draco. And the blond barely stopped himself from opening his mouth and asking him not to speak, not to say a word right now, because he knew, he simply _felt_ something terrible was coming and he urgently needed to stop this, to reverse what terrible truth was hidden inside Ron’s mouth, to stop it, to just bloody stop it…

But there was no way back anymore. Ron opened his mouth and the words came out anyway. Quiet words. Dooming words:

“Harry wants to move in with me.”

Through the distance his desperate blue eyes pleaded something with him but Draco couldn’t read them because it was all just a giant dreadful bloody mess in his head and his savage heart right now and he couldn’t even form words to tell him to take it back, how horribly wrong this was…  And they just kept on pouring, those terrible words.

“He says he loves me. He says he’ll leave Ginny for me, risk his children hating him, anything… for me. He says he always loved me, he just didn’t have the guts to say it back then… to hurt Hermione… and then it was too late… He went on his knees in front of me… I… just like that… _on his fucking knees_ … in front of _me_ …”

“What did you tell him?”

The words that burst to the outside through Draco’s disheveled ravaged shell felt shaky, but his relief that he was finally able to say something, _anything_ , was immense and once he had heard them spoken they gave him strength to say the rest, to deal with this.

“What did you tell him, Ron? Did you tell him to fuck off, Ron?! _Did you?!_ I asked you something, you ginger bastard!”

Somehow the rational brain he was hoping would come to his rescue didn’t activate after all. Instead there was this rage, this awful uncontrollable feeling of dread and the crippling screaming fear of black gaping void at the thought of losing Ron that took control over his words and before he knew it, he was shouting.

“No…”

Ron’s answer was barely audible and Draco was left breathless and wondering how can such a simple little word leave so much devastation in its wake.

“ _What…? Why?!_ Why not, Ron?! What do you think you owe him?! You owe that obnoxious brat nothing, do you hear me, nothing!! Or do you…? _Or do you_ , Ron?! Talk to me, goddammit, tell me what the fuck did you do, you incredible blasphemous _idiot_ , to make him think that after all this time he stands a chance?!”

“I kissed him, alright?!” the redhead finally exploded and just hearing the words made Draco’s knees all wobbly and fragile underneath him.

”Just once,” Ron continued quietly, his voice miserable, but the words pouring out of him were unstoppable, as if he couldn’t wait to finally admit it, to let it all out in the open. “One time. On Christmas eve. I was drunk and hurt and I felt so bloody abandoned… and he caught me under the mistletoe and begged me to just give him something so I thought – _oh, for fuck’s sake, why do we all have to be so miserable, I just can’t keep on hurting him_ – so I kissed him and I just kept on kissing him into coming, that’s how bloody livid and desperate I was… once more left behind… without you. And it was _wrong_ , so wrong for all of us… and I _wanted_ to tell you, but I thought you’d go all crazy and… you know… “

His hand shot nervously through his silken red hair and as the fingers trod through the shiny strands of red-gold, Draco noticed off-handedly how badly they were shaking…

“He’s been after me ever since,” Ron continued, his voice desperate and defeated. “And he would have been all over me if I as much as blinked at him; Merlin knows he made sure he had opportunities enough! But for all it’s worth - I’ve been fending off his advances, every last one of them, because it all feels horribly wrong and it makes me feel rotten when I think of what I did and I feel dirty to lead him on and never give him anything. I swear to god, I haven’t done anything else with him, I wouldn’t let it happen and that’s god’s honest truth. I never should have done what I did in the first place… I never should have given him hope, but I thought long and hard about it and at least I know why I did it.”

And at these words he looked Draco straight in the eye as if he had indeed reached a conclusion and spoke quietly, but adamantly:

“You see, you’re wrong: I _do_ owe him. I owe him for respect you never gave me, I owe him for every gentle gesture, every single kindness he’d ever shown me without any regard whether it made him look like an idiot or less cool. I owe him for the time he spends with me, gladly, willingly, for all the other six days of the week he’s there for me and he cares… because I cannot live for one day of the week, Draco - not anymore,” he stared directly into his eyes as if he wanted to make sure he understood:

“I have a life outside of this room, you know. I once hoped to share it with you, but lately it has been nothing but misery... I’m lost and hurt and anxious and lonely six out of seven days a week and I can’t go on like that anymore. I could when kids and family occupied my time, knowing you had a family to take care of as well, but now you live alone now and still… – you _chose_ to live alone rather than being with me. And it hurts like madness, my love, it hurts like acid on a fresh wound to know how little you think of me, how very unwelcome I am in your reality and your realm…”

And Draco’s lips just pressed together to suppress the trembling at the bitter recognition of how sorely his subtle hints have been misunderstood, how poorly he had managed to bring his true feelings across to the man he was dying to love.

“I had _such_ hopes for us when you let her go,” Ron continued quietly. “And more of the blasted soaring hopes when Hermione found out – yet you crushed them, crushed and demolished every single one of them to bits and pieces so now none of them remain. So I told him…”  - and Draco’s tortured, numb heart literally stopped in the little pocket of agony in between his shattering words – “I told him I need to think it over. I told him I would meet him later this day and I would give him my answer, because he needs it and it’s unfair to leave him hanging on without one. So… I came to you, to tell you, to see if there’s still something… you… “

His brilliant blue eyes were so desperate they seemed on the verge of madness but Draco who could read them and soothe the destroyed pleading man behind them was long gone. In his place there was a man full of the Black rage and the terrible sense of betrayal that burst out of him before he could control it, shot through the room in thunderous roar, aiming all its devastation at the one person that caused Draco Malfoy to disintegrate into insanity:

“Get out!!! You betrayed me, betrayed us, _you kissed_ _him, you gave him this_ … how _dare_ you! How dare you betray me, betray what we had?! I should have known, you just _destroy_ everyone you love, don’t you, you filthy, treacherous… You need to leave now!”

Somehow his wand was in his trembling hand and it was pointed at Ron Weasley’s heart and Ron did nothing to defend himself. He just stood there, silent, as if cast in stone, with his trusting blue eyes set on the raging narrow face of the man he was willing to give his life for and waited for his verdict. But Draco couldn’t stand a look at him now, because he wanted to shred him to bits as much as he wanted to kiss him and beg for his heart, so he closed his grey eyes to fend off the moment of weakness and howled once more with the last bit of restraint he had left:

“ _Leave now_ or I’ll hurt you, Weasley, just bloody _get out of here, Ron_!!!”

There was a drop of fear in his voice as if some remnant of his rational brain screamed at him how absolutely he had lost control - and perhaps it was this fear or simply a feeling that he was truly, honestly no longer wanted, that he had finally fucked up beyond repair, which, in the end, made the redhead disapparate a blink before the curse hit. It was a Cruciatus of the worst kind, the one that splits nerves open and drives people insane and when the echo of the curse hit Draco across the room, he collapsed into himself and crumbled. The inarticulate screams and sobs that twisted his body and howled out of his chest had no mark of human upon them, they were those of a beast gone mad.

He felt the fabric of the ties between them stretched to the fullest, almost tearing and it hurt like madness. He didn’t know how much time he spent lying there in a heap of something that was once a man hoping to love. At some point pure instinct drove him to crawl into the bed, their bed, with shaky limbs, simply because it smelled of him and he needed the comfort so badly, _any_ trace of comfort he could find. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, healing destruction with mere hint of his presence and before he knew it his hand crawled between his thighs as if it was the only road it could remember and he was left wanking to the scent, to the memories of that warm god-like body taking possession of him and demolishing him so completely. His body arched when he climaxed with a suppressed cry and he realized that his come was warm against his skin and his tears were running cold down his face.

“ _God_ , _Ron_...you fucked me up... you fucked me up completely, my love...” he whispered quietly, madly and stared into the blank of space in front of him, seeing nothing. With a tired gesture he touched the pool of rapidly chilling liquid on his belly absent-mindedly, because he had no strength left to clean it up – and that was when he felt it.

 _The ring._ The ring, their ring, was glowing against his finger, beautifully warm like it always was and he knew it, he just knew it Ron was holding it in that moment, praying for strength. And suddenly it was all so simple.

What a fool he had been! Why, oh why could he not see it before!? Ron never gave him back his ring, he didn’t come here to give it back, he came there, to their place of love and comfort, to get his answer – and _boy, did he get it_! The worst possible answer one could fear to get - and yet he never gave it back. He held on, he held on to the very thing that was cast into the very core of that ring - to hope, to love.

And suddenly Draco shot up feverishly with a sense of urgency that surged down his body like a giant over-bearing wave and he knew _exactly_ what he should do. He only hoped he wasn’t going to be too late to do it. He just got a gift, a gift he could hardly comprehend, a proof of Ron’s loyalty that wouldn’t count on any court, but it counted for everything in his wretched heart that felt the connection between them like never before, laid so bare open, raw through and through, so very exposed. And he would not throw it away. Not this time, not if he could still help it. If only he would get there on time…

He knew he had to do this right, so no one could say Draco Malfoy was drunk, or hexed or besides himself in any way, when he did it. So in spite of the crazy heart beating in his throat, urging him to hurry, _just hurry the fuck up_ , he bothered to get cleaned up and get dressed up the way it was appropriate to a Malfoy who was about to gamble everything that was worth anything on something he felt reaching out to him through a humble piece of inexpensive jewellery.

He apparated in front of the pub and after a good look, smiled tiredly. Ever since they bonded, he could do this. He could just think of Ron, close his eyes and apparate and he would land mere yards from him. And this time he found himself in front of a pub, strangely enough the very pub where he had once, a million years ago, come to seek Ron out and start what he hoped would be a mere fling – but it had turned out to be the very thing his life rotated around. It seemed like twisted justice that he should have to do this here. But if he thought of it properly, it was only just.

He had to do this, and quickly, before his rational brains woke up and stopped him from throwing away his life as he knew it. Draco didn’t want his rational brain to wake up. He wanted Ron. And if getting Ron, once and for all, good and proper, meant he had to ignore every Malfoyian instinct he was born into – so be it.

He inhaled the last breath of fresh evening air and entered.

Not knowing what he was going to find, he came prepared. He _thought_ he came prepared. But once the heavy air cleared with the draught of evening breeze his arrival brought in, he spotted them, saw them right away and his determination to keep cool went to the dogs once again. His vision almost darkened under the onslaught of contradicting feelings. It could not have been deliberate – but they were sitting in the exact same place as they did that faithful night when Draco gambled his heart away.

There was Potter and his usual cronies, though none of their women this time, and Potter had his arm casually flung across the shoulders of his best mate in a gesture that could be one of mere friendship... _or much much more_. His eyes were lit up from inside, vividly green as if burning with hellfire and he was leaning into Ron, _way_ too deeply into his personal space, and it appeared he was trying to talk to him about something in a quiet voice. Perhaps he had come too late after all...

Only one man had an answer to that.  The redhead was sitting there limply, still as if at his own funeral, so pale he was almost transparent. His eyes were set on the table in front of him, staring and seeing nothing, the usual splendid light in those exquisite blue eyes extinguished, making them look dead and empty. His hands were intertwined so tightly around the glass of Firewhiskey that it was making his knuckles white, but the fingers of the right hand were toying with the one ring he wore, toying with it nervously as if he was trying to find the right grip… just as Draco knew they would be. The reflection from the fireplace caught on it and Draco thought he could see the images of lion and serpent wrapping around each other. Ron no longer bothered to have it masked as the wedding ring he once shared with Hermione – tonight his sacred piece of jewellery was meant to be _exactly_ what it was. The very sight had warmed Draco’s heart up and while he watched the adept fingers play with the small metallic object, he imagined he could almost feel his touch slip around his own fingers through the intimate connection they shared.

And that’s why every neuron in his body hollered to life with a vengeance when Potter suddenly leaned even closer and pressed his chin on Ron’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear that made Ron close his eyes completely and look even more defeated than before. And the second Potter’s lips pressed on his cheek, just a chaste peck as if he wanted to seal a silent deal between them, Draco’s self control was gone in a flash of rage. He didn’t know where the words came from, but he had positively roared them across the room:

“Take your filthy hands off my man!!!”

Potter jumped away as if he was bitten by a snake while Ron’s head shot up in disbelief and Draco would have given his life for the light that suddenly flooded his blue eyes with brilliance, its reflection spilling happiness all across the pretty features of his face.

The pub was suddenly dead silent and all eyes were on him.

But he cared for no one. He was here for Ron, for his wonderful warm loving redhead, the most beautiful person on the planet for him and he wasn’t leaving until he made him hear the words he needed to say. Those cursed words he should have said much earlier during their 20 years together, had he not been such a blasted coward.

“He’s not your man, you slick bastard!” Potter positively hissed at him and got up abruptly, the legendary green eyes flashing dangerously until the whole room trembled with the echo of his magnificent magic. “You all but destroyed him, if you had any rights to him, you forfeit them long ago, you poisonous sick fuck...!”

But suddenly Ron’s hand touched his shoulder and pulled him back into his seat gently, but unrelenting.

“I need to hear this, Harry,” he said calmly. “I need to hear why he’s here and what he has to say before I can give you the answer I promised you. There _is_ no other way for me. He has something to say and I want to hear it,” he repeated quietly, but adamantly and one could see how Harry Potter ground his teeth together in the futile attempt to hold his temper at bay, but in the end relented and nodded reluctantly without another  word.

Slowly, in perfect silence, Draco moved across the room and stopped in front of the very same table he had once, an eternity ago, pulled his chair to, pushing the Longbottom twat out of the way. In the pregnant thick atmosphere of the pub, holding its breath in expectation, his every word echoed tenfold, unfathomably loud and crystal clear.

“I came here, to this very pub, almost 20 years ago, to give myself something… _someone_ … someone precious; a man, I had wanted for ages at that point and couldn’t imagine not ever having a taste of.  Spoilt as I was, I couldn’t fathom that reaching for him and taking what he had to offer could _ever_ have any kind of consequences – after all, I was born and raised a Malfoy, we _don’t do_ consequences of our foolish actions. _I couldn’t have been more wrong_.”

He glanced across the room and saw the gawping mouth and disbelieving glares before he let his eyes find his face and he just knew they could never leave it.

“I fell in love that night. Head over heels in love with this one guy that I thought beneath me in every way possible – except he wasn’t, not in any way imaginable. He was the most wonderful, warmest human being I could ever hope to fall in love with, a bloody sex-god in bed, my own private spell of bliss and comfort – and yet blind and arrogant as I was, it took me an eternity to recognise that I have scarily, unimaginably become addicted to having him around. I called it like this in my mind forever – _addiction_ \- to give it what I thought was its rightful - dangerous unbecoming and very unwelcome - face.

After that night I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. Not ever again. And it bothered me, bothered me for the longest time and to no end. Whenever I allowed myself to think about it, love was as far from my mind as it could be. I thought of using him, draining him of everything he had to give and then leaving him worse for wear. I didn’t want to be with him, I didn’t want to be seen with him, _I didn’t want him_ … No, I didn’t. I _didn’t_ need him, I _didn’t_ love him. At least that’s what I told myself time and time again when he left and my very skin craved his presence and my heart screamed bloody murder in the emptiness he left behind. I had made denial into my personal art form… and like every good artist, I really should have known better, I should have known when to stop.

Yet I haven’t. I’ve never stopped lying to myself. I lied to myself that very first night and I continued to lie to myself for the next 20 years... At first, that I was simply indulging myself until someone better came along, and later, when my heart stubbornly clang to him so unrelenting, that I could keep him hidden in the shade and still live my proper life of fame, prestige and fortune in the broad daylight, in everyone’s view. And during that time he gave me everything and more, never asking for anything for himself. It was _all for me_ , the way I came. Damaged, greedy, selfish, obnoxious, arrogant, overbearing me. He loved me the way I am and so help me god – I love him.

 _So_ …”

For a moment he tore his eyes away from the mesmerising stunned face, the most beautiful face in his world, to collect himself and glanced around the flock of shocked faces around him.

“Did Malfoy just say he loved Ron? For like - 20 years?!” he heard Longbottom’s incredulous whisper behind his back and he knew they must all be wondering the same thing. Have they heard him correctly?! What the hell was this?! But he couldn’t give a rat’s arse for any of them on the best of his days and now they were merely a necessary nuisance. Because now… came the hard part.

He knew he needed to do this, Ron had earned it with years of bitter silence and patient waiting and he could do this. Ron was worth it, what they had was worth it. What Potter could do, he could do better…

Without another word he vanished the table before him and once there was nothing between him and Ron but empty space, he crossed it with a slow deliberate pace. He stopped right in front of the redhead and looked him straight in the face. And then slowly sunk onto his knees before him.

The loud gasp of the mass behind him was expected. The look at livid wild expression of Potter’s face was worth it. But he didn’t do this for either of those, he was past caring. He only had one purpose. He saw his own face reflect in the brilliant blue orbs that always washed him clean of his sins and he could read his lover’s mind so clearly he hurried before the words could swim onto his lips. _You don’t have to do this,_ he would have said. But he had to. This was his penance; this was his way to purge himself of his stupid cruel pride that stood between them and their happiness all this time.  

“Ronald Weasley…” he said quietly and then allowed a small smile to break through his solemn surface: “ _Ron_ …” he said softly. “Just saying your name makes me feel warm at heart...

Forgive me, Ron. I apologize for all the years I left you waiting, for all the dark places I dragged you to, for all the lies I made you say, for all the careless demeaning words I threw at you, for all the mindless deeds aimed to hurt. I came here to ask your forgiveness and I need you to say the words, Ron, or you will never understand how special and treasured you are in my eyes, in the very core of my heart. I dare not ask you for anything else before I have your forgiveness – and I would like to ask you for _so_ much more.”

The moment of silence seemed to have dragged on forever and Draco’s heart fluttered like a captured bird against his chest. What if he came too late? What if he could never see the light in those worshiped eyes turn brilliant for him? What if he had finally gone too far and Ron somehow found his pride and wouldn’t say the words? _What if..._?

“No apology needed,” Ron’s voice broke through his restless panicked thoughts and it was uncommonly rough as if the redhead never planned to use it this evening. “You know as well as I do that you did what you did with my full consent. I could have left when, after the first meeting, our second meeting was in secret again. And the third one. And the next one. And so on - to the very last one. I could have broken the confines of being your dirty little secret – but I chose not to. I was always ready to deliver some more glorious lies when it came down to protecting what we had, so that we would still be “ _us_ ”, something I was desperate to exist, though only in secret. I guess what I’m saying is – your apology should go out to all the people we’ve hurt with our lies. To your wife. To my Hermione. To Harry here. And I can’t forgive you in their name. But if you need it, if you truly need to hear the words from me – I forgive you in mine. You know why...”

His voice died away and for a long moment Draco lost himself completely staring in the splendid star-speckled Universe of Ron Weasley’s heaven-blue eyes. And then...

“You know you’re the light of my life, don’t you? _Don’t you, Ron_? How can you _not_ know? You just have to look at me and what I see in your eyes casts light across the darkest deepest pits inside me and it just floods me with joy. I've seen my own eyes glow silver when I’m around you, because that’s how you make me feel on the inside. _Aglow. Precious. Priceless._ There has been no one else for me since I first laid eyes on you and there never will be. I love you. I love you, Ron. _God_ , this is... how could you not know!? My mother noticed the first time she saw us together, your wife looked at me once in your presence and she knew, our children had always known, even Potter here figured it out! How could you ever doubt it?!”

His voice was wild with feverish intensity and once Ron broke a breath-taking smile at him, his pretty face suddenly alight with blissful happiness and love, the flood of words that poured out of Draco’s silly mouth, who seemed to have gotten a life on its own, was unstoppable:

“God, don’t even get me _started_! I’m so in love with you, I don’t know if I’m coming or going when I’m around you... I’m crazy about you inside out, there’s not a fibre in my body that doesn’t crave you... You drive me insane with jealousy, I just want to _murder_ anyone who’s ever touched you! Don’t you go flashing that smile at people much, cause you make me want to hurt them for stealing those gorgeous beautiful smiles of yours that should only ever be for me! I don’t ever want to share any of you! You’ve transformed me into this crawling apologizing stuttering mess, a complete nut in the eyes of everyone here, and I don’t even care... There’s _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you...

I thought I’d lost you today and it was the most miserable, most terrifying, most anxious couple of hours in my life. I don’t ever want to go through that again. I don’t want to live in the world without you, it scares the breath out of me. You _own_ me, Ron Weasley, you so own me…

So please… _please_ tell me it’s not all over between us, please tell me I haven’t been an idiot one too many times. I’ll do anything… There’s so much I want to do with you… move in with you… make love to you… take you places, show you around the world, flash you around like a medal that proves that Draco Malfoy has a heart after all – had a heart, until he gave it away, to you… And then I want to make love to you some more. Just because you’re so insanely good at it.”

By this time Ron’s hand flew to his mouth to cover an expression of disbelief and an obscenely big grin, but he could see the joy radiating from his lovely eyes, literally lighting up the room and Draco smiled for him, with him, a happy free smile, a most sincere blissful grin he hasn’t flashed since childhood - and  just blurted out:

“I want to marry you. That is, if you’ll have me… and if those bloody dorks at the Ministry say that I can’t, I’ll fight them tooth and nail before the Wizengamot until they all die of old age or change their minds and their stupid laws, whichever comes first. I want to belong to you… and I want to own you. I want to call myself your own and I want to call you mine. In front of the whole world, my Father, my Mother, your family, all our children - even in front of these dorks here, the sorry lot laughing at my back,” he flashed the mob behind him an embarrassed smile and saw more people return it than ever before in his entire life.

At some point his hand slipped around the one that still lay still in Ron’s lap and their rings covered each other as their fingers intertwined - and Draco felt whole again.

“Ron…” Potter tried to break the magic between them, his desperate green eyes full of frustration and impotent anger. “Ron, _don’t_ …”

But it was too little too late and it was never going to be enough and never on time - even Harry Potter was not strong enough to break the bonds of old, wrapped solidly around their tortured, sorely tested, yet terrifically resilient love.

“ _Yes_!” Ron suddenly blurted out breathless and his hand shot to Draco’s shoulder as he pulled him up and wrapped himself around him as if he never ever wanted to share any of him with the world again. One could almost hear the bones crack. “Yes to… everything you said… to all of it. To love, to marriage, to the scary thought of meeting your Father, bloody hell… to all of it. _Yes, Draco, yes_ …”

His last word came out somewhat tumbled, because it was already lost in the frantic over-bearing kiss Draco Malfoy launched into, head on, mouth first. He didn’t even care he emerged from Ron’s bear-hug somewhat disheveled and looking wonderfully messy and glowing with happiness. He only cared about showing him how literally he had meant it, when he said “ _make love to you_ ” and “ _in front of the whole world_ ”. Kissing Ron was always his favourite poison and now he could do it in plain sight, for everyone to see for the first time… and it was intoxicating and totally the best thing in the entire world.

And it was also quickly becoming embarrassing, as there were catcalls and whistles galore and his crazy, adrenaline-pumped body thought it was a wonderful idea to give him a mother of all hard-ons in front of everyone. When he barely managed to stifle a most embarrassing moan in his adult life by simply biting on Ron’s lip, the redhead tore from him with no small amount of effort and just looked him deeply into the spellbound silver eyes.

“Home?” he asked and Draco could only nod. Ron simply straightened himself up and looked across his shoulder into his best-mate’s eyes and read the disappointment and crushed hopes clearly written on his face – but Harry Potter was known to be a man to rise from the ashes, worse for wear, but always very much alive.

“So…” said Harry heavily and Ron just nodded:

“Yeah…” he said quietly, unapologetically. “I guess you got your answer.”

And Harry Potter just exhaled his disappointment together with his defeat and nodded quietly:

“Yeah… I guess I did. And my resolve at long last. There’s no point in fighting your heart. I know there was never any point in fighting mine. But if he hurts you again, I’ll murder him in his bed. Good luck with him, Ron, you’re going to need it.”

And with these words he turned around and broke through the crowd in the pub before the one weakness he had spilled down his cheeks.

“I know,” whispered Ron after him with a knot in his throat and just a hint of remorse in his voice. “I know, don’t I bloody know it! _You_ …!” he suddenly drove his fingers into the blond hair of the man, who currently busied himself by pressing innocent looking kisses all over his chest and was just about to start on his neck, just to make a point how bloody _urgent_ this was! He planted his thumbs under his chin and lifted up his face, who had the most shameless invitation written in the silver half-lidded eyes and in the slow insolent smile spreading across the narrow pretty face.

“You just cost me my best mate’s heart, you crazy horrible… _God_ , Malfoy, you better have something of the same value in return… for me… Draco…” he barely managed to mask a most embarrassing whimper with a helpless hiss, when the greedy sweet mouth captured him hungrily and Draco Malfoy disapparated them away without bothering to break them apart, breaking just about every rule of safety and designated spots for apparation in the  Ministry guidebooks.

They landed exactly where he intended to land them – in their bed. Because he couldn’t wait to bury himself into this dream of a man. He couldn’t believe his luck, couldn’t quite comprehend yet, that they were never going to have to hide it again, that they could be what they were meant to be from the beginning, but this time out in the open. And it was _so easy_ all this time! In a sudden onslaught of greed and anxiety he breathed into his mouth between two searing, wonderfully lush kisses:

“Do you really love me? _Do you, Ron_?”

“Mhm... I… _do_ ,” came a rather smothered answer because the gorgeous object of his affection was far too busy with picking and licking every last marble straight off his tongue with his god-given illegal mouth to bother with a proper answer.

“ _Good_ … god almighty… oh, good god… yes… oh… good,” was the inarticulate mess that came out of the mouth of the person that was once a very eloquent young man by the name of Draco Malfoy. “Because…  this incredible… dumbfucked… _idiot_ right here… Christ, don’t stop… is so crazy in love with you… he can’t fucking _breathe_ without your mouth on his own… Merlin, Ron!”

Once he lay in his arms, once again spent and destroyed beyond belief, he couldn’t stop touching the beautiful face covered in beads of perspiration, the sweet mouth still panting with the remnants of their incredible love-making, staring up into those mesmerising blue eyes, once again brilliant with joy and love and all those fabulous feelings Ron Weasley always had in store for him - and he told him quietly:

“I almost stopped breathing when you said you still wanted to be with me... and it feels as if I haven't been able to catch my breath ever since. It still feels surreal that I can finally be with you and I don’t even have to hide it. You’re my dream come true. I can’t believe you’d let me love you. Can the love I have for you ever make up for all my sins, for all the times I’ve wronged you?”

And Ron just smiled, an entirely exhausted but completely blissful grin:

“I don’t know about yours, babe…” he stopped to kiss him softly, lovingly “... but mine can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, the end at last. I apologize for the mushiness, I really needed some comfort after today's wreck of a day and I just decided to wrap it up like this and post it. I had more written, but I'll probably use it in another fic.  
> I hope it's not too disappointing, but it was always meant to end like this. To break to bits and to rebuild, I suppose that was underneath the story-line the whole time.  
> I know the main characters are eons and miles away from the characters in the books, but this was my perspective of them for the purposes of this fic.  
> Many thanks to [Drakey](/users/Drakey/) for constructive comments and a number of useful explanations and even an idea I got to use in the fic regarding the Weasley's early attachment to those they love. :)  
> Thank you all for reading - and especially those who took the time to comment! - and I hope I didn't completely put you off from ever reading anything written by me again. I can be a bit of a troll... ;)


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